THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  A  WINTER   CITY. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  DAY. 


By  "  quid  a," 


AUTHOR  OP   "STRATHMORE,"   "GRANVILLE    DE   VIGNE,"    "  tINDER   TWO 
FLAGS,"    "IDALIA,"   "  PUCK,"   ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY. 
1896. 


PR 

13^ 


IN  A  WINTER  CITY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Floralta  was  once  a  city  of  great  fame.  It  stands 
upon  an  historical  river.  It  is  adorned  with  all  that 
the  Arts  can  create  of  beauty,  of  grace,  and  of  majesty. 
Its  chronicles  blaze  with  heroical  deeds  and  witii  the 
achievements  of  genius.  Great  men  have  been  bred 
within  its  walls, — men  so  great  that  the  world  has  never 
seen  their  like  since. 

rioralia,  in  her  liberties,  in  her  citizens,  in  her  poets 
and  painters  and  sculptors,  once  upon  a  time  had  few 
rivals,  perhaps,  indeed,  no  equals,  upon  earth. 

By  what  strange  irony  of  fate,  by  what  singular  cyn- 
ical caprice  of  accident,  has  this  fairest  of  cities,  with 
her  time-honored  towers  lifted  to  her  radiant  skies,  be- 
come the  universal  hostelry  of  cosmopolitan  fashion 
and  of  fashionable  idleness  ?  Sad  vicissitudes  of  fallen 
fortunes  ! — to  such  base  uses  do  the  greatest  come. 

It  is  Belisarius  turned  croupier  to  a  gaming-table; 
it  is  Csesar  selling  cigars  and  newspapers ;  it  is  Apelles 
drawing  for  the  "Albums  pour  Hire;"  it  is  Pindar 
rhyming  the  couplets  for  "  Fleur  de  The ;"  it  is  Prax- 
iteles designing  costumes  for  a  calico  ball ;  it  is  Phid- 
ias forming  the  poses  of  a  ballet! 

1*  5 

1704885 


6  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

Perha]>s  the  mighty  gliosts  of  mediaeval  Florah'a 
do  walk,  sadly  and  ashamed,  by  midnight  under  the 
shadow  of  its  exquisite  piles  of  marble  and  of  stone. 
If  ihey  do,  nobody  sees  them ;  the  cigarette-smoke  ia 
too  thick. 

As  for  the  modern  rulers  of  Floralia,  they  have 
risen  elastic  and  elated  to  the  height  of  the  situation, 
and  have  done  their  best  and  uttermost  to  degrade 
their  city  into  due  accordance  with  her  present  circum- 
stances, and  have  destroyed  as  much  as  they  dared  of 
her  noble  picturesqueness  and  ancient  ways,  and  have 
tacked  on  to  her  venerable  palaces  and  graceful  towers, 
stucco  mansions  and  straight  hideous  streets,  and  staring 
walls  covered  with  advertisements,  and  barren  boule- 
vards studded  with  toy  trees  that  are  cropped  as  soon 
as  they  presume  to  grow  a  leaf,  and  have  striven  all 
they  know  to  fit  her  for  her  fortunes,  as  her  inn-keepers, 
when  they  take  an  antique  palace,  hasten  to  fit  up  a 
smoking-room,  and,  making  a  paradise  of  gas-jets  and 
liqueurs,  write  over  it,  "II  Bar  Americano." 

It  is  considered  very  clever  to  adapt  oneself  to  one's 
fortunes;  and  if  so,  the  rulers  of  Floralia  are  very  clever 
indeed ;  only  the  stucco  and  the  straight  streets  and  the 
frightful  boulevards  cost  money,  and  Floralia  has  no 
money,  and  a  very  heavy  and  terrible  debt ;  and  whether 
it  be  really  worth  while  to  deface  a  most  beautiful  and 
artistic  city,  and  ruin  your  nobles  and  gentry,  and 
grind  down  your  artisans  and  peasants,  and  make  your 
whole  province  impoverished  and  ill-content,  for  the 
mere  sake  of  pleasing  some  strangers  by  the  stucco  and 
the  hoardings  that  their  eyes  are  used  to  at  home,^- 
well,  that  perhaps  may  be  an  open  question. 


IiX  A    WINTER    CITY.  7 

The  Liuly  Hilda  Vorarlberg  had  written  thus  far 
wlien  she  got  tired,  left  off,  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow on  to  the  mountain-born  and  poet-hymned  river 
of  Floralia.  She  had  an  idea  that  she  would  write  a 
novel ;  she  was  always  going  to  do  things  that  she 
never  did  do. 

After  all,  they  w*^re  not  her  own  ideas  that  she  had 
written,  but  only  those  of  a  Floralian,  the  Duca  della 
Rocca,  whom  she  had  met  the  night  before.  But  then 
the  ideas  of  everybody  have  been  somebody  else's  be- 
forehand,— Plato's,  or  Bion's,  or  Theophrastus's,  or  your 
favorite  newspaper's;  and  the  Lady  Hilda,  although 
she  had  been  but  two  days  in  the  Winter  City,  had 
already  in  her  first  drive  shuddered  at  the  stucco  and 
the  hoardings,  and  shivered  at  the  boulevards  and  the 
little  shaven  trees.  For  she  was  a  person  of  very  re- 
fined and  fastidious  taste,  and  did  really  know  some- 
thing about  the  arts,  and  such  persons  suffer  very  acutely 
from  what  the  peculiar  mind  of  your  modern  munici- 
palities calls,  in  its  innocence,  "improvements." 

The  Lady  Hilda  had  been  to  a  reception,  too,  the 
night  before,  and  had  gone  with  the  preconceived  con- 
viction that  a  certain  illustrious  Sovereign  had  not  been 
far  wrong  when  she  had  called  Floralia  the  Botany  Bay 
of  modern  society;  but  then  the  Lady  Hilda  was  easily 
bored,  and  not  easily  pleased,  and  liked  very  few  things, 
almost  none:  slie  liked  her  horses,  she  liked  M.  Worth, 
she  liked  bric-a-brac,  she  liked  her  brother,  Lord  Clair- 
vaux,  and,  when  she  came  to  think  of  it — well,  that 
was  really  all. 

The  Lady  Hilda  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  knew 
it ;  she  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion, — i.e.,  like 


8  IN  A    WINTER   CITY. 

a  medisev^al  saint  out  of  a  picture ;  her  velvet  robe 
clung  close  to  lier,  and  her  gold  belt,  with  its  chains  and 
pouch  and  fittings,  would  not  have  disgraced  Cellini's 
own  working;  her  hair  was  in  a  cloud  in  front  and 
in  a  club  behind ;  her  figure  was  perfect :  M.  Worth, 
who  is  accustomed  to  furnish  fio-ures  as  well  as  clotlies, 
had  a  great  reverence  for  her;  in  her,  Nature,  of  whom 
generally  speaking  he  is  disposed  to  think  very  poorly, 
did  not  need  his  assistance;  he  thought  it  extraordinary, 
l)ut,  as  he  could  not  improve  her  in  that  respect,  he  had 
to  be  content  with  draping  Perfection,  which  he  did  to 
perfection  of  course. 

Her  face  also  was  left  to  nature,  in  a  very  blamable 
degree  for  a  woman  of  fashion.  Her  friends  argued  to 
her  that  any  woman,  however  fair  a  skin  she  might 
have,  must  look  washed  out  without  enamel  or  rouge  at 
the  least.  But  the  Lady  Hilda,  conscious  of  her  own 
delicate  bloom,  was  obdurate  on  the  point. 

"  I  would  rather  look  washed  out  than  caked  over," 
she  would  reply;  which  was  cruel,  but  conclusive.  So 
she  went  into  the  world  without  painting,  and  made 
them  all  look  beside  her  as  if  they  had  come  out  of  a 
comic  opera. 

In  everything  else  she  was,  however,  as  artificial  as 
became  her  sex,  her  station,  and  her  century. 

She  was  a  very  fortunate  woman;  at  least  society  al- 
ways said  so.  The  Clairvaux  people  were  very  terribly 
poor,  though  very  noble  and  mighty.  She  had  been 
married  at  sixteen,  immediately  on  her  presentation, 
to  a  great  European  capitalist  of  nondescript  nation- 
ality, who  had  made  an  enormous  fortune  upon  th^ 
stock  exchanges  in  ways  that  were  never  inquired  into, 


7A^  A    WINTER    CITV.  9 

and  this  gentleman,  whose  wealth  was  as  solid  as  it 
sounded  fabulous,  had  had  the  good  taste  to  die  in  the 
first  months  of  their  wedded  life,  leaving  her  fifty- 
thousand  a  year,  and  bequeathing  the  rest  of  his  money 
to  the  Prince  Imperial.  Besides  her  large  income,  she 
had  the  biggest  jewels,  the  choicest  horses,  the  hand- 
somest house  in  London,  the  prettiest  liotel  in  Paris, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  she  could  very  well  afford  to  have 
a  fresh  toilette  a  day  from  her  friend  Worth  if  she 
chose.  Very  often  she  did  choose.  "What  a  lucky 
creature !"  said  every  other  woman ;  and  so  she  was. 
But  she  would  have  been  still  more  so  had  she  not  been 
quite  so  much  bored.  Boredom  is  the  ill-natured  peb- 
ble that  always  will  get  in  the  golden  sli})per  of  the 
pilgrim  of  pleasure. 

The  liady  Hilda  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
found  it  raining  heavily.  When  the  sky  of  Floralia 
does  rain,  it  does  it  thoroughly,  and  gets  the  disagree- 
able duty  over,  which  is  much  more  merciful  to  man- 
kind than  the  perpetual  drizzle  and  dripping  of  Scot- 
land, Ireland,  Wales,  or  Middlesex.  It  was  the  rain 
that  had  made  her  almost  inclined  to  think  she  would 
write  a  novel ;  she  was  so  tired  of  reading  them. 

She  countermanded  her  carriage,  had  some  more 
wood  thrown  on  the  fire,  and  felt  disposed  to  regret 
that  she  had  decided  to  winter  here.  She  missed  all 
her  bibelots,  and  all  the  wonderful  shades  and  graces 
of  color  with  which  her  own  houses  were  made  as  rich 
yet  as  subdued  in  tone  as  any  old  cloisonne  enamel. 
She  had  the  finest  rooms,  here,  in  a  hotel  which  had 
been  the  old  palace  of  Murat ;  and  she  had  sent  for 
flowers  to  fill  every  nook  and  corner  of  them,  an  order 


10  ly  A  wiATER  cirv. 

which  rioralia  will  execute  for  as  many  francs  as  any 
other  city  -would  ask  in  napoleons. 

But  there  is  always  a  nakedness  and  a  gaudiness  in 
the  finest  suites  of  any  hotel ;  and  the  Lady  Hilda, 
though  she  had  educated  little  else,  had  so  educated 
her  eyes  and  her  taste  that  a  criard  bit  of  furniture  hurt 
her  as  the  grating  of  a  false  quantity  hurts  a  scholar. 
She  knew  the  value  of  grays  and  creams  and  lavenders 
and  olive  greens  and  pale  sea  blues  and  dead  gold  and 
Oriental  blendings.  She  had  to  seat  herself  now  in  an 
arm-chair  that  was  of  a  brightness  and  newness  in  ma- 
genta brocade  that  made  her  close  her  eyelids  involun- 
tarily to  avoid  the  horror  of  it,  as  she  took  up  some 
letters  from  female  friends  and  wondered  why  they 
wrote  them,  and  took  up  a  tale  of  Zola's  and  threw  it 
aside  in  disgust,  and  began  to  think  that  she  would  go 
to  Algeria,  since  her  doctors  had  agreed  that  her  lungs 
would  not  bear  the  cold  of  Paris  this  winter. 

Only  there  was  no  art  in  Algeria,  and  there  was. 
plenty  in  Floralia,  present  and  traditional,  and,  so  far 
as  a  woman  of  fashion  can  demean  herself  to  think 
seriously  of  anything  beyond  dress  and  rivalry,  she 
had  in  a  way  studied  art  of  all  kind,  languidly  indeed 
and  perhaps  superficially,  but  still  with  some  true 
understanding  of  it ;  for,  although  she  had  done  her 
best,  as  became  a  femme  comme  il  faut,  to  stifle  the 
intelligence  she  had  been  created  with,  she  yet  had 
moments  in  which  M.  Worth  did  not  seem  Jehovah, 
and  in  which  Society  scarcely  appeared  the  Alpha  and 
Omega  of  human  existence,  as  of  course  they  did  to 
her  when  she  was  in  her  right  frame  of  mind. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Algeria  or  Rome,"  she  said  to  herself: 


J.\  A    WINTER    CITV.  \\ 

it  rained  pitilessly,  hiding  even  the  bridges  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  river ;  she  had  a  dreadful  magenta- 
colored  chair,  and  the  window-curtains  were  scarlet; 
the  letters  were  on  thin  foreign  paper  and  crossed  ;  the 
book  was  unreadable ;  at  luncheon  they  had  given  her 
horrible  soup  and  a  vol-au-vent  that  for  all  flavor  it 
possessed  might  have  been  madeof  acorns,  ship-biscuit, 
and  shalots;  and  she  had  just  heard  that  her  cousin  the 
Countess  de  Caviare,  whom  she  never  approved  of,  and 
who  always  borrowed  money  of  her,  was  coming  also 
to  the  Hotel  Murat.  It  was  not  wonderful  that  she 
settled  in  her  own  mind  to  leave  Floralia  as  soon  as 
she  had  come  to  it. 

It  was  four  o'clock. 

She  thought  she  would  send  round  to  the  bric-ji-brac 
dealers'  and  tell  them  to  bring  her  what  china  and 
enamels  and  things  they  had  in  their  shops  for  her  to 
look  at;  little  that  is  worth  having  ever  comes  into  the 
market  in  these  days,  save  when  private  collections  are 
publicly  sold ;  she  knew  the  Hotel  Drouot  and  Christie 
and  Mansom's  too  well  not  to  know  that:  still,  it  would 
be  something  to  do. 

Her  hand  was  on  the  bell  when  one  of  her  servants 
entered.     He  had  a  card  on  a  salver. 

"  Does  Madame  receive  ?"  he  asked,  in  some  trepida- 
tion, for  do  what  her  servants  might  they  generally  din 
wrong ;  when  they  obeyed  her  she  had  almost  invaria- 
l>ly  changed  her  mind  before  her  command  could  be 
executed,  and  when  they  did  not  obey  her,  then  the 
Clairvaux  blood,  which  was  crossed  with  French  and 
Russian,  and  had  been  Norman  to  begin  with,  made 
itself  felt  in  her  usually  tranquil  veins. 


12  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

She  glanced  at  the  card.  It  might  be  a  bric-a-brac 
dealer's. 

On  it  was  written  "Dnca  della  Rocca."  She  paused 
doubtfully  some  moments. 

"  It  is  raining  very  hard,"  she  thought ;  then  gave  a 
sign  of  assent. 

Everybody  wearied  her  after  ten  minutes ;  still,  when 
it  was  raining  so  hard 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  They  say,"  the  great  assassin  who  slays  as  many 
thousands  as  ever  did  plague  or  cholera,  drink  or  war- 
fare; "they  say,"  the  thief  of  reputation,  who  steals, 
with  stealthy  step  and  coward's  mask,  to  filch  good 
names  away  in  the  dead  dark  of  irresponsible  calumny; 
"they  say,"  a  giant  murderer,  iron-gloved  to  slay  you, 
a  fleet,  elusive,  vaporous  will-o'-the-wisp  when  you 
would  seize  and  choke  it;  "they  say,"  mighty  Thug 
though  it  be  which  strangles  from  behind  the  purest 
victim,  had  not  been  ever  known  to  touch  the  Lady 
Hilda. 

She  seemed  very  passionless  and  cold ;  and  no  one 
ever  whispered  that  she  was  not  what  she  seemed. 
Possibly  she  enjoyed  so  unusual  an  immunity,  first, 
because  she  was  so  very  rich ;  secondly,  because  she 
had  many  male  relations ;  thirdly,  because  women, 
whilst   they  envied,  were   afraid    of  her.      Anyway, 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  13 

lier  name  was  altogether  without  reproacli ;  the  only 
defect  to  be  found  in  her  in  the  estimate  of  many  of 
her  adorers. 

Married  without  any  wish  of  her  own  being  con- 
sulted, and  left  so  soon  afterwards  mistress  of  herself 
and  of  very  large  wealth,  she  had  remained  altogether 
indifferent  and  insensible  to  all  forms  of  love.  Other 
women  fell  in  love  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  feebly  or  for- 
cibly, according  to  their  natures,  but  she  never. 

The  passions  she  excited  broke  against  her  serene 
contempt,  like  surf  on  a  rocky  shore.  She  was  the 
despair  of  all  the  "tueurs  des  femmes"  of  Europe. 

"  Le  mieux  est  I'ennemi  du  bien,"  she  said  to  her 
brother  once,  when  she  had  refused  the  hereditary 
Prince  of  Deutschland  ;  "  I  can  do  exactly  as  I  like ; 
I  have  everything  I  want ;  I  can  follow  all  my  own 
whims ;  I  am  perfectly  happy ;  why  ever  should  I 
alter  all  this?  What  could  any  man  ever  offer  me 
that  would  be  better?" 

Lord  Clairvaux  was  obliged  to  grumble  that  he  did 
not  know  what  any  man  could. 

"  Unless  you  were  to  care  for  the  man,"  he  muttered, 
shamefacedly. 

"Oh!— h!— h!"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  with  the  most 
prolonged  delicate  and  eloquent  interjection  of  amaze<l 
scorn. 

Lord  Clairvaux  felt  that  he  had  been  as  silly  and 
rustic  as  if  he  were  a  plowboy.  He  was  an  affectionate 
creature  himself,  in  character  very  like  a  Newfoundland 
dog,  and  had  none  of  his  sister's  talent  and  temper- 
ament ;  he  loved  her  dearly,  but  he  was  always  a  little 
afraid  of  her. 

2 


14  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

"  Hilda  don't  say  much  to  you,  but  she  just  gives 
you  a  look,  and  don't  you  sink  into  your  shoes !"  he 
said  once  to  a  friend. 

He  stood  six  feet  three  without  the  shoes,  to  whose 
level  her  single  glance  could  so  pathetically  reduce  him. 

But,  except  before  herself,  Lord  Clairvaux,  in  his 
shoes  or  out  of  them,  was  the  bravest  and  frankest 
gentleman  that  ever  walked  the  earth;  and  the  uni- 
versal recollection  of  him  and  of  his  unhesitating  habit 
of  "setting  things  straight"  probably  kept  so  in  awe 
the  calumny-makers  that  he  produced  the  miracle  of 
a  woman  who  actually  was  blameless  getting  the  credit 
of  being  so.  Usually  snow  is  deemed  black,  and  coal 
is  called  swans'-down,  with  that  refreshing  habit  of 
contrariety  which  alone  saves  society  from  stagnation. 

It  never  occurred  to  her  what  a  tower  of  strength  for 
her  honor  was  that  good-looking,  good-tempered,  stupid, 
big  brother  of  hers,  who  could  not  spell  a  trisyllable 
were  it  ever  so,  and  was  only  learned  in  racing-stock 
and  greyhound  pedigrees ;  but  she  was  fond  of  him  in 
a  cool  and  careless  way,  as  she  might  have  been  of  a 
big  dog,  and  was  prodigal  in  gifts  to  him  of  great 
winners  and  brood  mares. 

She  never  went  to  stay  with  him  at  Broomsden ;  she 
disliked  his  wife,  her  sister-in-law,  and  she  was  always 
bored  to  death  in  English  country-houses,  where  the 
men  were  out  shooting  all  day,  and  half  asleep  all  the 
evening.  The  county  people,  the  salt  of  the  earth  in 
their  own  eyes,  were  infinitesimal  as  ants  in  hers.  She 
detested  drives  in  pony-carriages,  humdrum  chitchat, 
and  afternoon  tea  in  the  library ;  she  did  not  care  in 
the  least  who  had  bagged  how  many  brace;  the  de- 


IN  A   WINTER   CITY.  15 

tails  of  fast  runs  with  hounds  were  as  horribly  tiresome 
to  her  as  the  boys  home  from  Eton ;  and  she  would 
rather  have  gone  a  pilgrimage  to  Lourdes  than  have 
descended  to  the  ball,  where  all  sorts  of  nondescripts 
had  to  be  asked,  and  the  dresses  positively  haunted  her 
like  ghosts. 

Five  years  before,  at  Broomsden,  she  had  taken  up 
her  candlestick  after  three  nights  of  unutterable  bore- 
dom between  her  sister-in-law  and  a  fat  duchess,  and 
had  mentally  vowed  never  to  return  there.  The  vow 
she  had  kept,  and  she  had  always  seen  Clairvaux  in 
Paris,  in  London,  in  Baden, — anywhere  rather  than  in 
the  home  of  their  childhood,  towards  which  she  had  no 
tenderness  of  sentiment,  but  merely  recollections  of  the 
fierce  tyrannies  of  many  German  governesses. 

She  would  often  buy  him  a  colt  out  of  the  Lagrange 
or  Lafitte  stables,  and  always  send  half  Boissier's  and 
Siraudin's  shops  to  his  children  at  Christmas -time. 
That  done,  she  considered  nothing  more  could  be  ex- 
pected of  her ;  it  was  certainly  not  necessary  that  she 
should  bore  herself. 

To  spend  money  was  an  easy  undemonstrative  man- 
ner of  acknowledging  the  ties  of  nature,  which  pleased 
and  suited  her.  Perhaps  she  would  have  been  capable 
of  showing  her  affection  in  nobler  and  more  self-sacri- 
ficing ways;  but  then  there  was  nothing  in  her  circum- 
stances to  call  for  that  kind  of  thing ;  no  trouble  ever 
came  nigh  her;  and  the  chariot  of  her  life  rolled  as 
smoothly  as  her  own  victoria  d.  huit  ressorts. 

For  the  ten  years  of  her  Avomanhood  the  Lady  Hilda 
had  had  the  command  of  immense  wealth.  Anything 
short  of  that  seemed  to  her  abject  poverty.     She  could 


16  JN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

theorize  about  making  herself  into  Greuze  or  Gains- 
borough  pictures  in  serge  or  dimity;  but,  in  fact,  she 
could  not  imagine  herself  without  all  the  black  sables 
and  silver  fox,  the  velvets  and  silks,  the  diamonds  and 
emeralds,  the  embroideries  and  laces,  that  made  her  a 
thing  which  Titian  would  have  worshiped. 

She  could  not  imagine  herself  for  an  instant  without 
power  of  limitless  command,  limitless  caprice,  ceaseless 
indulgence,  boundless  patronage,  and  all  the  gratifica- 
tions of  whim  and  will  which  go  with  the  possession 
of  a  great  fortune  and  the  enjoyment  of  an  entire  irre- 
sponsibility. 

She  was  bored  and  annoyed  very  often  indeed  because 
Pleasure  is  not  as  inventive  a  god  as  he  ought  to  be, 
and  his  catalogue  is  very  soon  run  through;  but  it 
never  by  any  chance  occurred  to  her  that  it  might  be 
her  money  which  bored  her. 

When,  on  a  very  dreary  day  early  in  November, 
Lady  Hilda,  known  by  repute  all  over  Europe  as  the 
proudest,  handsomest,  coldest  woman  in  the  world,  and 
famous  as  an  elegante  in  every  fashionable  city,  arrived 
at  the  Hotel  Murat,  in  the  town  of  Floralia,  and  it  was 
known  that  she  had  come  to  establish  herself  there  for 
the  winter  (unless,  indeed,  she  changed  her  mind,  which 
was  probable),  the  stir  in  the  city  was  extraordinary. 
She  brought  with  her  several  servants,  several  carriage- 
horses,  immense  jewel-cases,  and  a  pug  dog.  She  was 
the  great  arrival  of  the  season. 

There  was  a  Grand  Duchess  of  Dresden,  indeed,  who 
came  at  the  same  time,  but  she  brought  no  horses ;  she 
hired  her  coupe  from  a  livery-stable,  and  her  star,  not- 
withstanding its  royalty,  paled  in  proportion.    Besides, 


IN  A    WINTER    CITF.  17 

the  Grand  Duchess  was  a  very  little,  shabby,  insignifi- 
cant person,  who  wore  black  stuff  dresses,  and  a  wig 
without  any  art  in  it.  She  was  music-mad,  and  Wag- 
ner was  her  j)rophet.  The  Club  took  no  account  of 
her. 

There  is  a  club  in  Floralia,  nay,  it  is  the  CluD, — all 
other  clubs  being  for  purposes  gymnastic,  patriotic, 
theatric,  or  political,  and  out  of  societ}''  altogether. 

The  Club  is  very  fond  of  black-balling,  and  gives 
very  odd  reasons  for  doing  so,  instead  of  the  simple 
and  true  one,  that  it  wants  to  keep  itself  to  itself.  It 
has  been  known  to  object  to  one  man  because  his  hair 
curled,  and  to  another  because  he  was  the  son  of  a 
king,  and  to  another  because  his  boots  were  not  made 
in  Paris.  Be  its  reasons,  however,  good,  bad,  or  indif- 
ferent, it  pleases  itself;  by  its  fiat  newly-arrived  women 
are  exalted  to  the  empyrean  or  perish  in  obscurity,  and 
its  members  are  the  cream  of  masbuline  Floralia,  and 
spend  all  fine  afternoons  on  the  steps  and  the  pavement, 
blocking  up  the  passage-way  in  the  chief  street,  and 
criticising  all  equipages  and  their  occupants. 

When  the  Lady  Hilda's  victoria,  with  the  two  blacks, 
and  the  white  and  black  liveries,  swept  past  the  Club, 
there  was  a  great  stir  in  these  philosophers  of  the  stones. 
M  ost  knew  her  by  sight  very  well ;  two  or  three  knew 
her  personally,  and  these  fortunate  few,  who  had  the 
privilege  to  raise  their  hats  as  that  carriage  went  by, 
rose  immediately  wi  the  esteem  of  their  fellows. 

"  Je  n'ai  jamais  rien  connu  de  si  epatante,"  said  the 
French  Due  de  St.  Louis,  who  belongs  to  a  past  genera- 
tion, but  is  much  more  charming  and  witty  than  any- 
thing to  be  found  in  the  i)resent  one. 

2*  B 


18  IN  A    WINTER    CITV. 

*'  Twelve  Imndred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year," 
murmured  the  Marcliese  Sampicrdarcno,  with  a  sigh. 
He  was  married  himself. 

"  Here  is  your  '  affaire,'  Paolo,"  said  Don  Carlo  Ma- 
remma  to  a  man  ne.Tt  him. 

The  Duca  della  Ivocra,  to  Avhom  he  spoke,  stroked 
his  moustache,  and  smiled  a  little. 

"  She  is  a  very  beautiful  person,"  he  answered ;  "  I 
have  seen  her  before  at  the  Tuileries  and  at  Trouville, 
but  I  do  not  know  her  at  all.    I  was  never  presented." 

"  That  will  arrange  itself  easily,"  said  the  Due  de 
St.  Louis,  who  W'as  one  of  those  who  had  raised  their 
hats ;  "Maremma  is  perfectly  right ;  it  is  in  every  way 
the  very  thing  for  you.     Moi,  je  m'en  charge." 

Tlie  Duca  della  llocca  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  very 
little,  and  lighted  a  fresh  cigar.  But  his  face  grew 
grave,  and  he  looked  thoughtfully  after  the  black  horses 
and  the  white  and  black  liveries. 

At  the  English  reception  that  night,  which  the  Lady 
Hilda  disdainfully  likened  in  her  own  mind  to  a  penal 
settlement,  M.  de  St.  Louis,  whom  she  knew  very  well, 
begged  to  be  permitted  to  present  to  her  his  friend  the 
Duca  della  Rocca. 

She  was  dressed  like  a  mediaeval  saint  of  a  morning ; 
at  night  she  was  a  mediaeval  princess. 

She  had  feuille-morte  velvet  slashed  with  the  palest 
of  ambers ;  a  high  fraise ;  sleeves  of  the  Renaissance ; 
pointed  shoes,  and  a  great  many  jewels.  Della  Rocca 
thought  she  might  have  ste})ped  down  out  of  a  Gior- 
gione  canvas,  and  ventured  to  tell  her  so.  He  gave  her 
the  carte  du  pays  of  the  penal  settlement  around  her, 
and  talked  to  her  more  seriousl  ,■  for  some  considerable 


IN  A  WINTER  crrr.  19 

time.  Himself  and  the  Due  de  St.  Louis  were  the 
only  people  she  deigned  to  take  any  notice  of;  and  she 
went  away  in  an  hour,  or  rather  less^  leaving  a  kind  of 
flame  from  her  many  jewels  behind  her,  and  a  frozen 
sense  of  despair  in  the  hearts  of  the  women,  who  had 
watched  her,  appalled  yet  fascinated. 

"  Mais  quelle  femme  impossible  !"  said  Delia  Rocca, 
as  he  went  out  into  the  night  air. 

"Impossible!  mais  comment  done?"  said  the  Due 
de  St.  Louis,  with  vivacity  and  some  anger. 

The  Due  de  St.  Louis  worshiped  her,  as  every  year 
of  his  life  he  worshiped  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
ladies. 

"  Impossible !"  echoed  Delia  Rocca,  with  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth. 

Nevertheless,  the  next  day,  when  the  rain  was  fall- 
ing in  such  torrents  that  no  female  creature  was  likely 
to  be  anywhere  but  before  her  fire,  he  called  at  the 
Hotel  Murat,  and  inquired  if  Miladi  were  visible,  and, 
being  admitted,  as  better  than  nothing,  as  she  would 
have  admitted  the  bric-a-brac  man,  followed  the  servant 
up-stairs,  and  walked  into  an  atmosphere  scented  with 
some  three  hundred  pots  of  tea-roses,  lilies  of  the  val- 
ley, and  hothouse  heliotrope. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  you  have  been  to  see  her.  Quite  right," 
said  the  Due  de  St.  Louis,  meeting  him  as  he  came 
down  the  steps  of  the  hotel  in  the  rain,  when  it  was 
half-past  five  by  the  clock.  "  I  am  going  also  so  soon 
as  I  have  seen  Salvareo  at  the  Club  about  the  theatri- 
cals ;  it  will  not  take  me  a  moment.  Get  in  my  cab . 
you  are  going  there  too?  How  is  Miladi?  You  found 
her  charming?" 


20  J^  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

"She  was  in  a  very  bad  humor,"  replied  Delia  Rocca, 
closing  the  cab  door  on  himself. 

"  The  more  interesting  for  you  to  put  her  in  a  good 
one.'' 

"Would  either  good  or  bad  last  ten  minutes? — you 
know  her :  I  do  not,  but  I  should  doubt  it." 

1  he  Due  arranged  the  fur  collar  of  his  coat. 

"8he  is  a  woman,  and  rich;  too  rich,  if  one  can  say 
so.     Of  course  she  has  her  caprices " 

Delia  Rocca  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"She  is  very  handsome.     But  she  does  not  interest 


me." 


The  Due  smiled,  and  glanced  at  him. 

"Then  you  probably  interested  her.  It  is  much 
be'ter  }0u  should  not  be  interested  Men  who  are 
interested  may  blunder." 

"  She  is  vain, — she  is  selfish, — she  is  arrogant,"  said 
Delia  Rocca,  with  great  decision. 

"  Oh  ho  ! — all  that  you  find  out  already  ?  You  did 
not  amuse  her  long  ? " 

"  C'est  une  fern  me  exageree  en  tout,"  pursued  Delia 
Rocca,  disregarding. 

"  No !  Exaggeration  is  vulgar, — is  bad  taste.  Her 
taste  is  excellent, — unexceptionable " 

"  Exag6ree  en  tout !"  repeated  Delia  Rocca,  with 
much  emphasis.  "  Dress, — -jewels, — habits, — temper. 
— everything.  She  had  three  hundred  pots  of  flowers 
in  her  room !" 

"  Flower-pots,  pooh ! that  is  English.     It  is  very 

odd,"  pursued  the  Due,  pensively,  "  but  they  really  do 
like  the  smell  of  flowers." 

"Only  because  they  cost  so  much  to  rear  in  their  fogs. 


IN  A   WINTER    CITY.  21 

If  they  were  common  as  with  us,  they  would  throw 
them  out  of  the  window  as  we  do." 

"Nevertheless,  send  her  three  hundred  pots  more. 
II  faut  comraencer  la  cour,  mon  cher." 

Delia  Rocca  looked  out  into  the  rain. 

"I  have  no  inclination;  I  dislike  a  woman  of  the 
world." 

The  Due  chuckled  a  little. 

"Ah,  ah  !  since  when,  caro  mio?" 

"There  is  no  simplicity;  there  is  no  innocence; 
there  is  no  sincerity " 

"  Bah !"  said  the  Due,  with  much  disdain ;  "  I  do 
not  know  where  you  have  got  those  new  ideas,  nor  do 
I  think  they  are  your  own  at  all.  Have  you  fallen  in 
love  with  a  'jeune  Mees'  with  apple-red  cheeks  and 
sweetmeats  in  her  pocket?  Simplicity, — innocence, — 
sincerity.  Very  pretty.  Our  old  friend  of  a  million 
vaudevilles,  L'Ingenue.  We  all  know  her.  What  is 
she  in  real  truth  ? — A  swaddled  bundle  of  Ignorance. 
Cut  the  swaddling-band — ugh  !  and  Ignorance  flies  to 
Knowledge  as  Eve  did,  only  Ignorance  does  not  want 
to  know  good  and  evil :  the  evil  contents  her:  she  stops 
short  at  that.  Yes,  yes,  L'Ingenue  will  marry  you  that 
she  may  read  Zola  and  Belot ;  that  she  may  go  to  La 
Biche  au  Bois ;  that  she  may  smoke  cigars  with  young 
men ;  that  she  may  have  her  dresses  cut  half-way  down 
her  spine ;  that  she  may  romp  like  a  half-drunk  harlot 
in  all  the  cotillons  of  the  year !  Whereas  your  woman 
of  the  world,  if  well  chosen " 

"  Will  have  done  all  these  things  beforehand  at  some 
one  else's  expense,  and  will  have  tired  of  them, — or 
not  have  tired;  of  the  display  of  spine  and  of  the  co- 


22  ^^V  A    WIXTER    CITY. 

tillon  she  will  certainly  never  have  tired  unless  she  be 
fifty " 

"  That  is  not  precisely  what  I  mean,"  said  the  Due, 
caressing  his  small  white  moustache.  "  No ;  I  said  well 
chosen, — well  chosen.  What  it  can  matter  to  you 
whether  your  wife  smokes  with  young  men,  or  reads 
bad  novels,  or  romps  till  breakfast,  I  do  not  see  my- 
self. There  is  a  natural  destiny  for  husbands.  The 
unwise  fret  over  it,  the  wise  profit  by  it.  But,  con- 
sidering that  you  dislike  these  things  in  your  own  wife, 
however  much  you  like  and  admire  them  in  the  wives 
of  other  persons,  I  would  still  say,  avoid  our  friend  of 
a  million  vaudevilles, — la  petite  Mees  de  seize  ans. 
Ignorance  is  not  innocence ;  it  is  a  great  mistake  to 
suppose  that  it  even  secures  it.     Your  Mces  would  seize 

Belot  and  Zola  a  la  reveille  des  noces .     Miladi, 

yonder,  for  instance,  when  they  come  to  her  from  her 
bookseller's,  throws  them  aside,  unread " 

"There  was  a  book  of  Zola's  on  her  table  to- 
day " 

"  I  would  bet  ten  thousand  francs  that  she  had  not 
gone  beyond  the  title-page,"  interrupted  the  Due,  with 
petulance.  "  Taste,  mon  cher  Delia  E-occa,  is  the  only 
sure  guarantee  in  these  matters.  Women,  believe  me, 
never  have  any  principle.  Principle  is  a  backbone, 
and  no  woman — except  bodily — ever  possesses  an) 
backbone.  Their  priests  and  their  teachers  and  their 
mothers  fill  them  with  doctrines  and  conventionalities, 
— all  mere  things  of  word  and  wind.  No  woman  has 
any  settled  principles ;  if  she  have  any  vague  ones,  it 
is  the  uttermost  she  ever  reaches,  and  those  can  always 
bt  overturned  by  any  man  who  has  any  influence  over 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  23 

her.  But  Taste  Is  another  matter  altogether.  A  woman 
whose  taste  is  excellent  is  preserved  from  all  eccentrici- 
ties and  most  follies.  You  never  see  a  woman  of  good 
sense  ajicher  her  improprieties  or  advertise  her  liaisons 
as  women  of  vulgarity  do.  Nay,  if  her  taste  be  perfect, 
though  she  have  weaknesses,  I  doubt  if  she  will  ever 
have  vices.  Vice  will  seem  to  her  like  a  gaudy  color, 
or  too  much  gold  braid,  or  very  large  plaids,  or  buttons 
as  big  as  saucers,  or  anything  else  such  as  vulgar  women 
like.  Fastidiousness,  at  any  rate,  is  very  good  posticlie 
for  modesty  :  it  is  always  decent,  it  can  never  be  coarse. 
Good  taste,  inherent  and  ingrained,  natural  and  culti- 
vated, cannot  alter.  Principles — ouf ! — they  go  on  and 
off  like  a  slipper ;  but  good  taste  is  indestructible ;  it  is 
a  compass  that  never  errs.  If  your  wife  have  it — well, 
it  is  possible  she  may  be  false  to  you ;  slie  is  human, 
she  is  feminine ;  but  she  w\\\  never  make  you  ridiculous, 
she  will  never  compromise  you,  and  she  will  not  romp 
in  a  cotillon  till  the  morning  sun  shows  the  paint  on 
her  face  washed  away  in  the  rain  of  her  perspiration. 
Virtue  is,  after  all,  as  Mme.  de  Montespan  said,  une 
chose  tout  purement  g^ographique.  It  varies  with  the 
hemisphere  like  the  human  skin  and  the  human  hair ; 
what  is  vile  in  one  latitude  is  harmless  in  another.  No 
philosophic  person  can  put  any  trust  in  a  thing  which 
merely  depends  upon  climate  ;  but  Good  Taste " 

The  cab  stopped  at  the  Club,  and  the  Due  in  his 
disquisition. 

"  Va  faire  la  cour,"  he  said,  paternally,  to  his  com- 
panion as  they  went  through  the  doors  of  their  Cercle. 
"  I  can  assure  you,  mon  cher,  that  the  taste  of  Miladi 
is  perfect." 


24  J^  A   WINTER   CITY. 


"  In  dress,  perhaps,"  assented  Delia  Rocca. 

"  In  everything.     Va  faire  la  conr." 

Paolo,  Duca  del  la  Kocca,  was  a  very  handsome  man, 
of  the  finest  and  the  most  delicate  type  of  beauty ;  he 
was  very  tall,  and  he  carried  himself  with  state! iness  and 
grace ;  his  face  was  grave,  pensive,  and  poetic ;  in  the 
largest  assembly  people  who  were  strangers  to  him 
always  looked  at  him,  and  asked,  "  Who  is  that  ?" 

He  was  the  head  of  a  family,  very  ancient  and  dis- 
tinguished, but  very  impoverished ;  in  wars  and  civil 
war  all  their  possessions  had  drifted  away  from  them 
piece  by  piece  :  hence  he  Avas  a  great  noble  on  a  slender 
pittance.  It  had  always  been  said  to  him,  and  of  him, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that  he  would  mend  his  position 
by  espousing  a  large  fortune,  and  he  had  been  brought 
up  to  regard  such  a  transaction  in  the  light  of  a  painful 
but  inevitable  destiny. 

But,  although  he  was  now  thirty-eight  years  of  age, 
he  had  never  seen,  among  the  many  young  persons 
pointed  out  to  him  as  possessing  millions,  any  one  to 
whom  he  could  prevail  upon  himself  to  sell  his  old 
name  and  title. 

The  Great  Republic  inspires,  as  it  is  well  known,  a 
passion  for  social  and  titular  distinctions  in  its  enter- 
prising sons  and  daughters,  which  is,  to  the  original 
flunkeyism  of  the  mother  country,  as  a  Gloire  de  Dijon 
to  a  dog-rose,  as  a  Reine  Claude  to  a  common  blue 
plum.  Nor  are  the  pretty  virgins  whom  the  Atlantic 
wafts  across  in  any  way  afflicted  with  delicacy  or  hesi- 
tation if  they  can  but  see  their  way  to  getting  what 
they  want;  and  they  strike  the  hargain,  or  their 
mothers  do  so  lor  them,  with  a  cynical  candor  as  to 


IN  A   WINTER    CITY.  25 

their  object  which  would  almost  stagger  the  manager 
of  a  Bureau  de  Mariage. 

Many  and  various  were  the  gold-laden  damsels  of 
the  West  who  were  offered,  or  offered  themselves,  to 
him.  But  he  could  not  induce  himself;  his  pride,  or 
his  taste,  or  his  hereditary  instincts,  were  too  strong 
for  him  to  be  able  to  ally  himself  with  rag-  and  bone- 
merchants  from  New  York,  or  oil-strikers  from  Penn- 
sylvania, or  speculators  from  Wall  Street. 

No  doubt  it  was  very  weak  of  him ;  a  dozen  men  of 
the  great  old  races  of  Europe  married  thus  every  year ; 
but  Paolo  della  Rocca  loved  his  name  as  a  soldier  does 
his  flag,  and  he  could  not  brave  the  idea  of  possibly 
transmitting  to  his  children  traits  and  taints  of  untrace- 
able or  ignoble  inherited  influences. 

Over  and  over  again  he  allowed  himself  to  be  the 
subject  of  discussion  among  those  ladies  whose  especial 
pleasure  it  is  to  arrange  this  sort  of  matters ;  but  when 
from  discussion  it  had  been  ready  to  pass  into  action,  he 
had  always  murmured  to  his  match-making  friend, — 

"  A  little  more  time ! — next  year." 

"  Bah !  ce  n'est  qu'une  affaire  de  notaire,"  said  his 
special  protectress  in  these  matters,  a  still  charming 
Russian  ex-ambassadress,  who  constantly  wintered  in 
Floralia,  and  who,  having  had  him  as  a  lover  when  he 
was  twenty  and  she  was  thirty,  felt  quite  a  maternal 
interest  in  him  still  as  to  his  marriage  and  prospects. 

Della  Rocca  was  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  and 

of  his  country  not  to  be  well  aware  that  she  spoke  the 

truth ;  it  was  only  an  affair  for  the  notaries,  like  any 

other  barter ;  still,  he  put  it  off;  it  would  have  to  be 

done  one  day,  but  there  was  no  haste, — there  would 
B  3 


26  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

always  be  heiresses  willing  and  eager  to  become  the 
Duchess  flella  Rocca,  Princess  of  Palraarola,  and  Mar- 
chioness of  Tavignano,  as  his  roll  of  old  titles  ran. 

And  so  year  by  year  had  gone  by,  and  he  vaguely 
imagined  that  he  M'ould  in  time  meet  what  he  wanted 
without  any  drawbacks :  a  delusion  common  to  every 
one,  and  realized  by  no  one. 

Meanwhile,  the  life  he  led,  if  somewhat  purposeless, 
was  not  disagreeable ;  being  an  Italian,  he  could  live 
like  a  gentleman,  with  simplicity,  and  no  effort  to  con- 
ceal his  lack  of  riches,  and  did  not  think  his  dignity 
imperiled  because  he  did  not  get  into  debt  for  the  sake 
of  display;  he  would  dine  frugally  without  thinking 
himself  dishonored ;  refuse  to  join  in  play  without 
feeling  degraded ;  and  look  the  finest  gentleman  in 
Europe  without  owing  his  tailor  a  bill. 

For  other  matters  he  was  somewhat  desoeuvre.  He 
had  fought,  like  most  other  young  men  of  that  time, 
in  the  campaign  of  '59,  but  the  result  disappointed 
him ;  and  he  was  at  heart  too  honest  and  too  disdainful 
to  find  any  place  for  himself  in  that  struggle  between 
cunning  and  corruption  of  which  the  political  life  of 
our  regenerated  Italy  is  at  present  composed.  Besides, 
he  was  also  too  indolent.  So  for  his  amusement  he 
went  to  the  world,  and  chiefly  to  the  world  of  great 
ladies ;  and  for  his  duties  made  sufficient  for  himself 
out  of  the  various  interests  of  the  neglected  old  estates 
which  he  had  inherited ;  for  the  rest  he  was  a  man  of 
the  world  ;  that  he  had  a  perfect  manner,  all  society 
knew ;  whether  he  had  character  as  well,  nobody  cared  ; 
that  he  had  a  heart  at  all,  was  only  known  to  himself, 
his  peasantry,  and  a  few  women. 


7^Y  A    WINTER    CITi\  27 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  next  morning  the  sun  shone  brilliantly;  the 
sky  was  blue ;  the  wind  was  a  very  gentle  breeze  from 
the  sea;  her  breakfast  chocolate  was  well  made;  the 
tea-roses  and  the  heliotrope  almost  hid  the  magenta 
furniture  and  the  gilded  plaster  consoles  and  the  staring 
mirrors.  They  had  sent  her  in  a  new  story  of  Octave 
Feuillet;  M.  de  St.  Louis  had  forwarded  her  a  new 
volume  of  charming  verse  by  Sully  Prudhomme,  only 
sold  on  the  Boulevards  two  days  before,  with  a  note  of 
such  grace  and  wit  that  it  ought  to  have  been  addressed 
to  Elysium  for  ]\Ime.  de  Sevigne ;  the  post  brought  her 
only  one  letter,  which  announced  that  her  brother,  Lord 
Clairvaux,  would  come  thither  to  please  her,  after  the 
Newmarket  Spring  Meeting,  or  perhaps  before,  since 
he  had  to  see  "Major  Fridolin"  in  Paris. 

On  the  whole,  the  next  morning  Lady  Hilda,  look- 
ing out  of  the  hotel  window,  decided  to  stay  in  Floralia. 

She  ordered  her  carriage  out  early,  and  drove  hither 
and  thither  to  enjoy  tranquilly  the  innumerable  treas- 
ures of  all  the  arts  in  which  the  city  of  Floralia  is  so 
rich. 

A  Monsignore  whom  she  knew  well,  learned,  without 
pedantry,  and  who  united  the  more  vivacious  accom- 
plishments of  the  virtuoso  to  the  polished  softness  of 
the  churchman,  accompanied  her.  The  Clairvaux 
people  from  time  immemorial  had  been  good  Catholics. 

Lady  Hilda  for  her  part  never  troubled  her  head 


28  1^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

about  those  things,  but  she  thought  unbelief  was  very 
bad  form,  and  that  to  throw  over  your  family  religion 
was  an  impertinence  to  your  ancestors.  Some  things  in 
the  ceremonials  of  her  church  grated  on  her  sesthetio 
and  artistic  ideas,  but  then  these  things  she  attributed 
to  the  general  decadence  of  the  whole  age  in  taste. 

Her  Monsignore  went  home  to  luncheon  with  her, 
and  made  himself  as  agreeable  as  a  courtly  churchman 
always  is  to  every  one ;  and  afterwards  she  studied  the 
Penal  Settlement  more  closely  by  calling  on  those 
leaders  of  it  whose  cards  lay  in  a  heap  in  her  anteroom, 
and  amused  herself  with  its  mind  and  manners,  its 
attributes  and  antecedents. 

"After  all,  the  only  people  in  any  country  that  one 
can  trust  oneself  to  know  are  the  natives  of  it,"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  went  to  the  weekly  "  day"  of  the  in- 
finitely charming  Marchesa  del  Trasimene,  nata  Da 
Bolsena,  where  she  met  Delia  Rocca  and  M.  de  St. 
Louis,  as  everybody  meets  everybody  else,  morning, 
afternoon,  and  evening,  fifty  times  in  the  twenty-four 
hours  in  Floralia,  the  results  being  antipathy  or  sym- 
pathy in  a  fatal  degree. 

In  her  gyrations  she  herself  excited  extreme  atten- 
tion and  endless  envy,  especially  in  the  breasts  of  those 
unhappy  outsiders  whom  she  termed  the  Penal  Settle- 
ment. 

There  was  something  about  her! — Worth,  Pingat, 
and  La  Ferriere  dressed  the  Penal  Settlement,  or  it  said 
they  did.  Carlo  Maremma  always  swore  that  there 
was  a  little  dressmaker  who  lived  opposite  his  stable 
who  could  have  told  sad  truths  about  many  of  these 
Paris -born    toilettes;    but   no    doubt   Maremma   was 


7.V  A    WINTER    CITF.  29 

wrong,  because  men  know  nothing  about  these  tilings, 
and  are  not  aware  that  a  practiced  eye  can  tell  the 
sweep  of  Worth's  scissors  under  the  shoulder-blades  as 
surely  as  a  connoisseur  recognizes  the  hand  of  Boule  or 
Vernis  Martin  on  a  cabinet  or  an  etui.  At  any  rate, 
the  Penal  Settlement  swore  it  was  adorned  by  \Yorth, 
Piugat,  and  La  Ferriere  in  all  the  glories  and  eccen- 
tricities imaginable  of  confections,  unies  and  melangees, 
Directoire  and  Premier  Empire,  Juive  and  Louis 
Quinze  ;  and  if  talking  about  a  theory  could  prove  it, 
certainly  they  proved  that  they  bore  all  Paris  on  their 
persons. 

But  there  was  something  about  her — it  was  difficult 
to  say  what ;  perhaps  it  was  in  the  tip  of  her  Pompa- 
dour boot,  or  perhaps  it  hid  in  the  back  widths  of  her 
skirt,  or  perhaps  it  lurked  in  the  black  sable  fur  of  her 
dolman, — but  a  something  that  made  them  feel  there 
was  a  gulf,  never  to  be  passed,  between  them  and  this 
world-famed  elegante. 

Lady  Hilda  would  have  said  her  secret  lay  in  her 
always  being  just  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  advance  of 
the  fashion.  She  was  always  the  first  person  to  be  seen 
in  what  six  weeks  afterwards  was  the  rage ;  and  when 
the  rage  came,  then  Lady  Hilda  had  dropped  the  fash- 
ion. Hence  she  was  the  perpetual  despair  of  all  her 
sex, — a  distinction  which  she  was  quite  human  enough 
to  enjoy  in  a  contemptuous  sort  of  way ;  as  contempt- 
uous of  herself  as  of  others;  for  she  had  a  certain 
vague  generosity  and  largeness  of  mind  wdiich  lifted 
her  above  mean  and  small  emotions  in  general. 

She  had  been  steeped  in  the  world,  as  people  call  that 

combination  of  ennui,  cxcitemeut,  selfishness,  fatigue, 

3* 


30  1^^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

and  glitter,  wliicli  forms  tlie  various  delights  of  mod- 
ern existence,  till  it  had  penetrated  her  through  and 
through  as  a  petrifying  stream  does  the  supple  bough 
put  in  it.  But  there  were  little  corners  in  her  mind 
which  the  petrifaction  had  not  reached. 

This  morning — it  was  half-past  five  o'clock  in  a 
November  afternoon,  and  pitch  dark,  but  of  course  it 
was  morning  still,  as  nobody  had  dined,  the  advent  of 
soup  and  sherry  bringing  the  only  meridian  recognized 
in  society — the  Lady  Hilda  refreshed  with  a  cup  of 
tea  from  the  samovar  of  her  friend  the  Princess  Olga 
SchouvalofF,  who  came  yearly  to  her  palace  in  the  his- 
torical river-street  of  historical  Floralia,  and  having 
been  assured  by  Princess  Olga  that  if  they  kept  quite 
among  themselves  and  never  knew  anybody  else  but 
the  Floralian  Russian  and  German  nobility,  and  stead- 
fastly refused  to  allow  anybody  else  to  be  presented  to 
them,  Floralia  was  bearable, — nay,  even  really  agree- 
able,— she  got  into  her  coupe,  and  was  driven  through 
the  gloom  to  her  hotel. 

Her  head  servant  made  her  two  announcements: — 
Madame  de  Caviare  had  arrived  that  morning,  and 
hoped  to  see  her  before  dinner. 

Lady  Hilda's  brows  frowned  a  little. 

The  Duca  della  Rocca  had  sent  these  flowers. 

Lady  Hilda's  eyes  smiled  a  little. 

They  were  only  some  cyclamens  fresh  from  the  coun- 
try, in  moss.  She  had  regretted  to  him  the  day  before 
that  those  lovely  simple  wood  flowers  could  not  be 
found  in  florists'  shops  nor  in  flower-women's  baskets. 

After  all,  she  said  to  herself,  it  did  not  matter  that 
Mila  had  come,  she  was  silly  and  not  very  proper, 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  31 

and  a  nuisance  altogether;  but  Mila  was  responsible 
for  her  own  sins,  and  sometimes  could  be  amusing. 
So  the  Lady  Hilda,  in  a  good-humored  and  serene 
frame  of  mind,  crossed  the  corridor  to  the  apartments 
lier  cousin  had  taken  just  opposite  to  her  own. 

"He  is  certainly  very  striking-looking, — like  a  Van- 
dyke picture,"  she  thought  to  herself,  irrelevantly,  as 
she  tapped  at  her  cousin's  door ;  those  cyclamens  had 
pleased  her ;  yet  she  had  let  thousands  of  the  loveliest 
and  costliest  bouquets  wither  in  her  anteroom  every 
year  of  her  life,  without  deigning  to  ask  or  heed  who 
were  even  the  senders  of  them. 

"  Come  in,  if  it's  you,  dear,"  said  Madame  Mila,  un- 
grammatically and  vaguely,  in  answer  to  the  tap. 

The  Countess  de  Caviare  was  an  Englishwoman,  and 
a  cousin,  one  of  the  great  West  country  Trehillyons 
whom  everybody  knows,  her  mother  having  been  a 
Clairvaux.  She  had  been  grandly  married  in  her  first 
season  to  a  very  high  and  mighty  and  almost  imperial 
Russian,  himself  a  most  good-humored  and  popular 
person,  who  killed  all  his  horses  with  fast  driving,  gam- 
bled very  heavily,  and  never  amused  himself  anywhere 
so  well  as  in  the  little  low  dancing-places  round  Paris. 

Madame  ISIila,  as  her  friends  always  called  her,  was 
as  pretty  a  little  woman  as  could  be  imagined,  who 
enameled  herself  to  such  perfection  that  she  had  a  lace 
of  fifteen,  on  the  most  fashionable  and  wonderfully 
costumed  of  bodies;  she  was  very  fond  of  her  cousin 
Hilda,  because  she  could  borrow  so  much  money  of 
her,  and  she  had  come  to  Floralia  this  winter  because 
in  Paris  there  was  a  rumor  that  she  had  cheated  at 
cards, — fidse,  of  course,  but  still  odious. 


32  AV  A    WINTER   CITr. 

If  slie  had  made  a  little  pencil-mark  on  some  of  the 
aces,  where  was  the  harm  in  that  ? 

She  almost  always  played  with  the  same  people,  and 
they  had  won  heaps  of  money  of  her.  Whilst  those 
horrid  creatures  in  the  city  and  on  the  bourse  were 
allowed  to  "  rig  the  market,"  and  nobody  thought  the 
worse  of  them  for  spreading  false  news  to  send  their 
shares  up  or  down,  wliy  should  not  one  poor  little 
woman  try  to  help  on  Chance  a  little  bit  at  play? 

She  was  always  in  debt,  though  she  admitted  that 
her  husband  alloAved  her  liberally.  She  had  eighty 
thousand  francs  a  year  by  her  settlements  to  spend  on 
herself,  and  he  gave  her  another  fifty  thousand  to  do 
as  she  pleased  with  :  on  the  whole,  about  one-half  what 
he  allowed  to  Blanche  Souris,  of  the  Chateau-Gaillard 
theatre. 

She  had  had  six  children :  three  were  living  and  three 
were  dead ;  she  thought  herself  a  good  mother,  because 
she  gave  her  wet-nurses  ever  so  many  silk  gowns,  and 
when  she  wanted  the  children  for  a  fancy  ball  or  a 
drive,  always  saw  that  they  were  faultlessly  dressed ; 
and,  besides,  she  always  took  them  to  Trouville. 

She  had  never  had  any  grief  in  her  life,  except  the 
loss  of  the  Second  Empire  ;  and  even  that  she  got  over 
vvhen  she  found  that  flying  the  Red  Cross  flag  had 
saved  her  hotel,  without  so  much  as  a  teacup  being 
broken  in  it,  that  MM.  Worth  and  Offenbach  were 
safe  from  all  bullets,  and  that  society  under  the  Sep- 
tennate  promised  to  be  every  bit  as  leste  as  under  the 
Empire. 

In  a  word,  Madame  Mila  was  a  type  of  the  women 
of  hof  time. 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  33 

The  women  who  go  semi-nude  in  an  age  which  has 
begun  to  discover  that  the  nude  in  sculpture  is  very 
immoral;  who  discuss  "Tue-la"  in  a  generation  which 
decrees  Moliere  to  be  coarse,  and  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  indecent ;  who  have  the  Journal  pour  Rire  on 
their  tables  in  a  day  when  no  one  who  respects  them- 
selves would  name  the  Harlot's  Progress ;  who  read 
Gautier  and  Baudelaire  in  an  era  which  finds  "  Don 
Juan"  gross,  and  Shakspeare  far  too  plain ;  who  strain 
all  their  energies  to  rival  Miles.  Rose  The  and  La 
Petite  Boulotte  in  everything ;  who  go  shrimping  or 
oyster-hunting  on  fashionable  sea-shores,  with  their 
legs  bare  to  the  knee ;  who  go  to  the  mountains  with 
confections,  high  heels,  and  gold-tipped  canes,  shriek 
over  their  gambling  as  the  dawn  reddens  over  the  Alps, 
and  know  no  more  of  the  glories  of  earth  and  sky,  of 
sunrise  and  sunset,  than  do  the  porcelain  pots  that  hold 
their  paint,  or  the  silver  dressing-box  that  carries  their 
hair-dye. 

Women  who  are  in  convulsions  one  day  and  on  the 
top  of  a  drag  the  next ;  who  are  in  hysterics  for  their 
lovers  at  noonday  and  in  ecstasies  over  baccarat  at 
midnight ;  who  laugh  in  little  nooks  together  over  each 
other's  immoralities,  and  have  a  moral  code  so  elastic 
that  it  will  pardon  anything  except  innocence;  who 
gossip  over  each  other's  dresses,  and  each  other's  pas- 
sions, in  the  selfsame  self-satisfied  chirp  of  content- 
ment, and  who  never  resent  anything  on  earth,  except 
any  eccentric  suggestion  that  life  could  be  anything 
except  a  per})etual  fete  a  la  Watteau  in  a  perpetual 
blaze  of  lime-lii>;ht. 

Pain  ? — Are  there  not  chloral  and  a  flattering  doc- 

B*  c 


34  -^^V  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

tor  ?  Sorrow  ? — Are  there  not  a  course  at  the  Baths, 
})lay  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  new  cases  from  Worth? 
Shame  ? — Is  it  not  a  famine-fever  which  never  comes 
near  a  well-laden  table?  Old  Age? — Are  there  not 
white  and  red  paint,  and  heads  of  dead  hair,  and  even 
false  bosoms?  Death? — Well,  no  doubt  there  is  death, 
but  they  do  not  realize  it;  they  hardly  believe  in  it, 
they  think  about  it  so  little. 

There  is  something  unknown  somewhere  to  fall  on 
fchem  some  day  that  they  dread  vaguely,  for  they  are 
terrible  cowards.  But  they  worry  as  little  about  it  as 
possible.  They  give  the  millionth  part  of  what  they 
possess  away  in  its  name  to  whatever  church  they  be- 
long to,  and  they  think  they  have  arranged  quite  com- 
fortably for  all  possible  contingencies  hereafter. 

If  it  makes  things  safe,  they  will  head  bazaars  for 
the  poor,  or  wear  black  in  Holy  Week,  turn  lottery- 
wheels  for  charity,  or  put  on  fancy  dresses  in  the  name 
of  benevolence,  or  do  any  little  amiable  trifle  of  that 
sort.     But  as  for  changing  their  lives, — pas  si  Mte  ! 

A  bird  in  the  hand  they  hold  worth  two  in  the  bush ; 
and  though  your  birds  may  be  winged  on  strong  desire, 
and  your  bush  the  burning  portent  of  Moses,  they  will 
have  none  of  them. 

These  women  are  not  at  all  bad  ;  oh,  no !  they  are 
like  sheep,  that  is  all.  If  it  were  fashionable  to  be 
virtuous,  very  likely  they  would  be  so.  If  it  were 
cMg  to  be  devout,  no  doubt  they  would  ])ass  their  life 
on  their  knees.  But,  as  it  is,  they  knoAV  that  a  flavor 
of  vice  is  as  necessary  to  their  reputation  as  gn^t 
ladies,  as  sorrel-leaves  to  soupe  h  la  bonne  femme. 
They  afiect  a  license  if  they  take  it  not. 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  35 

They  are  like  the  barber,  who  said,  with  much  pride, 
to  Voltaire,  "  Je  ne  suis  qu'un  pauvre  diable  de  perru- 
quier,  mais  je  ne  crois  pas  en  Dieu  plus  que  les  autres." 

They  may  be  worth  very  little,  but  they  are  desper- 
ately afraid  that  you  should  make  such  a  mistake  as  tc 
think  them  worth  anything  at  all.  You  are  not  likely, 
if  you  know  them.     Still,  they  are  apprehensive. 

Though  one  were  to  arise  from  the  dead  to  preach  to 
them,  they  would  only  make  of  him  a  nine  days'  won- 
der, and  then  laugh  a  little,  and  yawn  a  little,  and  go 
on  in  their  own  paths. 

Out  of  the  eater  came  forth  sweetness,  and  from  evil 
there  may  be  begotten  good ;  but  out  of  nullity  there 
can  only  come  nullity.  They  have  wadded  their  ears, 
and  though  Jeremiah  wailed  of  desolation,  or  Isaiah 
thundered  the  wrath  of  heaven,  they  would  not  hear, — 
they  would  go  on  looking  at  each  other's  dresses. 

What  could  Paul  himself  say  that  would  change 
them? 

You  cannot  make  saw-dust  into  marble ;  you  cannot 
make  sea-sand  into  gold.  "  Let  us  alone,"  is  all  they 
ask ;  and  it  is  all  that  you  could  do,  though  the  force 
and  flame  of  Horeb  were  in  you. 

Mila,  Countess  de  Caviare,  having  arrived  early  in 
the  morning  and  remained  invisible  all  day,  had  awak- 
ened at  five  to  a  cup  of  tea,  an  exquisite  dressing-gown, 
and  her  choicest  enamel ;  she  now  gave  many  bird-like 
kisses  to  her  cousin,  heaped  innumerable  endearments 
upon  her,  and,  hearing  there  was  nothing  to  do,  sent 
out  for  a  box  at  the  French  Theatre. 

"  It  is  wretched  acting,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda ;  "  I 
went  the  other  night,  but  I  did  iMit  stay  half  an  hour." 


36  I^  ^    WINTER   CITV. 

"That  of  course,  ma  chere,"  said  Madame  Milaj 
"  but  we  shall  be  sure  to  see  people  we  know, — heaps 
of  people." 

"  Such  as  they  are,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda. 

"  At  any  rate,  it  is  better  than  spending  an  evening 
alone.  I  never  spent  an  evening  alone  in  my  life," 
said  Mme.  de  Caviare,  who  could  no  more  live  without 
a  crowd  about  her  than  she  could  sleep  without  chloro- 
dyne,  or  put  a  petticoat  on  without  two  or  three  maids' 
assistance. 

The  French  company  in  Floralia  is  usually  about  the 
average  of  the  weakly  patchwork  troops  of  poor  actors 
that  pass  on  third-rate  little  stages  in  the  French  depart- 
ments; but  Floralia,  feminine  and  fashionable,  flocks  to 
the  French  company  because  it  can  rely  on  something 
tant  soil  peu  hazards,  and  is  quite  sure  not  to  be  bored 
with  decency,  and  if  by  any  oversight  or  bad  taste  the 
management  should  put  any  serious  sort  of  piece  on 
the  stage,  it  can  always  turn  its  back  to  the  stage  and 
whisper  to  its  lovers  or  chatter  shrilly  to  its  allies. 

They  went  into  their  box  as  the  second  act  ended  of 
"  Mme.  de  Scabreuse," — a  play  of  the  period,  written 
by  a  celebrated  author,  in  w^hich  the  lady  married  her 
nephew,  and  finding  out  that  he  was  enamored  of  her 
daughter,  the  offspring  of  a  first  marriage,  bought 
poison  for  them  both,  and  then,  suddenly  changing  her 
mind,  with  magnificent  magnanimity  drank  it  herself, 
and  blessed  the  lovers  as  she  died  in  great  agonies. 

It  had  been  brought  out  in  Paris  with  enormous 
success,  and  as  Lady  Hilda  and  the  countess  had  both 
Been  it  half  a  dozen  times  they  could  take  no  interest 
in  it. 


JN  A    WINTER    CITV.  37 

"You  would  come!"  said  the  former,  raising  her 
eyebrows  and  seating  herself  so  as  to  see  nothing 
whatever  of  the  stage  and  as  little  as  possible  of  the 
house. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Madame  Mila,  whose  lorgnon 
was  ranging  hither  and  thither,  like  a  general's  sj>y- 
glass  before  a  battle.     "  There  was  nothing  else  to  do ; 
at  least  you  said  there  was  nothing.     Look !  some  of 
those  women  have  actually  got  the  ceuf  de  Paques  cor- 
sage— good  heaven  ! — those  went  out  last  year,  utterly, 
utterly !      Ah,  there  is  Lucia  San   Luca, — what  big 
emeralds  ! — and  tliere  is  Maria  Castelfidardo  :  how  old 
she  is  looking !     That  is  Lady  Featherleigh  :  you  re- 
member that  horrid   scandal? — Yes,  I   hear  they  do 
visit  her  here.    How  handsome  Luisa  Ottosecooli  looks ! 
powder  becomes  her  so ;  her  son  is  a  pretty  boy, — oh, 
you   never  stoop  to  boys;    you  are  wrong;    nothing 
amuses  one  like  a  boy;  hoiu  they  believe  in  one!    There 
is  that  Canadian  woman  who  tried  to  get  into  notice  in 
Paris  two  seasons  ago, — you  remember? — they  make  her 
quite  cr^rae  in  this  place, — the  idea !     She  is  dressed 
very  well :  I  dare  say  if  she  were  always  dumb  she 
might  pass.    She  never  would  have  been  heard  of  even 
here,  only  Altavante  pushed  her  right  and  left,  bribed 
the  best  people  to  her  parties,  and  induced  all  his  other 
tendresses  to  send  her  cards.     In  love !  of  course  not ! 
Who  is  in  love  with  a  face  like  a  Mohican  squaw's  and 
a  squeak  like  a  goose's  ?    But  they  are  immensely  rich ; 
at  least  they  have  mountains  of  ready  money ;  he  must 
have  suffered  dreadfully  before  he  made  her  dress  well. 
Teach  her  grammar,  in  any  language,  he  never  will. 
There  is  the  old  Duchesse — why,  she  was  a  centenarian 


38  /-V  A    ]Vh\TEIi    CI  TV. 

when  Ave  were  babies — but  they  say  she  plays  every 
atom  as  keenly  as  ever ;  nobody  can  beat  lier  for  lace, 
either — look  at  that  Spanish  point.  There  are  a  few 
decent  people  here  this  winter;  not  many,  though  ;  I 
think  it  would  have  been  wiser  to  have  stopped  at 
Nice.  Ah,  mon  cher,  comment  ya  va?  —  tell  me, 
Maurice,  who  is  that  woman  in  black  with  good  dia- 
monds, there,  with  Sanpierdareno  and  San  Marco  ?" 

"  Maurice,"  pressing  her  pretty  hand,  sank  down  on 
to  the  hard  bench  behind  her  arm-chair  and  insinuated 
gracefully  that  the  woman  in  black  with  good  diamonds 
was  not  "d'un  vertu  assez  fort"  to  be  noticed  by  or 
described  to  such  ladies  as  Mila,  Countess  de  Caviare, 
but,  since  identification  of  her  was  insisted  on,  pro- 
ceeded to  confess  that  she  was  no  less  a  person  than  the 
wild  Duke  of  Stirling's  Gloria. 

"  Ah  !  is  that  Gloria  ?"  said  Madame,  with  the  keen- 
est interest,  bringing  her  lorgnon  to  bear  instantly. 
"  How  curious !  I  never  chanced  to  see  her  before. 
How  quiet  she  looks,  and  how  plainly  she  is  dressed !" 

"  I  am  afraid  we  have  left  Gloria  and  her  class  no 
other  way  of  being  singular!"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 
who  had  muttered  her  welcome  somewhat  coldly  to 
Maurice. 

Maurice,  Vicomte  des  Gommeux,  was  a  young 
Parisian^  famous  for  leading  cotillons  and  driving  pie- 
balds; he  followed  Mme.  de  Caviare  with  the  regu- 
larity of  her  afternoon  shadow,  was  as  much  an  institu- 
tion with  her  as  her  anodynes,  and  much  more  useful 
than  her  courier.  To  avoid  all  appearances  that  might 
set  a  wicked  world  talking,  he  generally  arrived  in  a 
city  about  twenty-four  hours  after  her,  and,  as  she  was 


/-V   A    WINTER    CITY.  39 

a  woman  of  good  breeding  who  insisted  on  les  m(ew8, 
always  went  to  anotlier  hotel.  He  had  held  his  present 
post  actually  so  long  as  three  years,  and  there  were  as 
yet  no  signs  of  his  being  dismissed  and  replaced,  for 
he  was  very  devoted,  very  obedient,  very  weak,  saw 
nothing  that  he  was  intended  not  to  see,  and  was  very 
adroit  at  rolling  cigarettes. 

"II  est  si  bon  enfant!"  said  the  Count  de  Caviare  to 
everybody ;  he  really  was  grateful  to  the  young  man, 
some  of  Aviiose  predecessors  had  much  disturbed  his 
wife's  temper  and  his  own  personal  peace. 

"  Bonsoir,  mesdaraes,"  said  the  Due  de  St.  Louis, 
entering  the  box.  "Comtosse,  charme  de  vous  voir 
— Miladi,  h  vos  pieds.  What  a  wretched  creature  that 
is  playing  Julie  de  Seabreuse!  I  blush  for  my  country. 
When  I  was  a  young  man,  the  smallest  theatre  iu 
France  would  not  have  endured  that  woman.  There 
was  a  public  then  with  proper  feeling  for  the  histrionic 
as  for  every  other  art ;  a  bad  gesture  or  a  false  intona- 
tion was  hissed  by  every  audience,  were  that  audi- 
ence only  composed  of  workmen  and  work-girls;  but 
now " 

"May  one  enter,  mesdames?"  asked  his  friend,  Delia 
Rocca. 

"  One  may, — if  you  will  only  shut  the  door.  Thanks 
for  the  cyclamens,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  with  a  little 
of  the  weariness  going  off  her  delicate,  proud  face. 

Delia  Rocca  took  the  seat  behind  her,  as  the  slave 
Maurice  surrendered  his  to  M.  de  St.  Louis. 

"  Happy  flowers !  I  found  them  in  my  own  woods 
this  morning,"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  seat.  "  You  do 
not  seem  much  amused,  madame." 


40  Jy  A    WINTER    CITV. 


(( 


•Amused!  The  play  is  odious.  Even  poor  Deselee's 
genius  could  only  give  it  a  horrible  fascination." 
"It  has  the  worst  fault  of  all,  it  is  unnatural." 
"Yes;  it  is  very  curious,  but  the  French  will  have 
so  much  vice  in  the  drama,  and  the  English  must  have 
so  much  virtue,  that  a  natural  or  possible  play  is  an 
impossibility  now  upon  either  stage." 

"  You  looked  more  interested  in  the  majolica  this 


morning " 


"  How !  did  you  see  me  ?" 

"I  was  passing  through  the  tower  of  the  Podesta  on 
business.  Is  it  not  wonderful  our  old  pottery !  It  is 
intensely  to  be  regretted  that  Ginori  and  Carocci  imitate 
it  so  closely ;  it  vulgarizes  a  thing  whose  chief  beauty 
after  all  is  association  and  age." 

"Yes;  what  charm  there  is  in  a  marriage  plate  of 
]\Iaestro  Giorgio's,  or  a  sweetmeat-dish  of  your  Orazio 
Fontana's !  But  there  is  very  scanty  pleasure  in  repro- 
ductions of  them,  however  clever  these  may  be,  such  as 
Pietro  Gay  sends  out  to  Paris  and  Vienna  Exhibitions." 

"You  mean,  there  can  be  no  mind  in  an  imitation?' 

"Of  course;  I  would  rather  have  the  crudest  origi- 
nal thing  than  the  mere  galvanism  of  the  corpse  of  a 
dead  genius.  I  Avould  give  a  thousand  paintings  by 
Froment,  Damousse,  or  any  of  the  finest  living  artists 
of  S&vres,  for  one  Y>'iece  by  old  Van  der  Meer  of  Delft ; 
but  I  would  prefer  a  painting  on  Sevres  done  yesterday 
by  Froment  or  Damousse,  or  even  any  nnich  less  famous 
worker,  provided  only  it  had  originality  in  it,  to  the 
best  reproduction  of  a  Van  der  Meer  that  modern  manu- 
facturers could  j)roduce." 

"I  think  you  are  right;  but  I  fear  our  old  pot*<iry- 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  41 

painters  were  not  very  original.  They  copied  from  the 
pictures  and  engravings  of  Mantegna,  Eatfuelle,  Marc- 
antonio,  Marco  di  Ravenna,  Beatricius,  and  a  score  of 
others." 

"The  application  was  original,  and  the  sentiment 
they  brought  to  it.  Those  old  artists  put  so  much 
heart  into  their  work." 

"  Because  when  they  painted  a  stemma  on  the  glaze 
they  had  still  feudal  faith  in  nobility,  and  when  they 
painted  a  Madonna  or  Ecce  Homo  they  had  still  child- 
like belief  in  divinity.  What  does  the  pottery-painter 
of  to-day  care  for  the  coat  of  arms  or  the  religious  sub- 
ject he  may  be  commissioned  to  execute  for  a  dinner- 
service  or  a  chapel  ?  It  may  be  admirable  painting, — if 
you  give  a  very  high  price, — but  it  will  still  be  only 
manufacture." 

"  Then  what  pleasant  lives  those  pottery-painters  of 
the  early  days  must  have  led  !  They  were  never  long 
stationary.  They  wandered  about  decorating  at  their 
fancy,  now  here  and  now  there, — now  a  vase  for  a 
pharmacy,  and  now  a  stove  for  a  king.  You  find 
German  names  on  Italian  ware,  and  Italian  names 
on  Flemish  gres ;  the  Nuremberger  would  work  in 
Venice,  the  Dutchman  would  work  in  Rouen." 

"Sometimes,  however,  they  were  accused  of  sorcery; 
the  great  potter,  Hans  Kraut,  you  remember,  was 
feared  by  his  townsmen  as  possessed  by  the  devil,  and 
was  buried  ignominiously  outside  the  gates,  in  his  nook 
of  the  Black  Forest.  But  on  the  whole  they  were 
happy,  no  doubt, — men  of  simple  habits  and  of  worthy 
lives." 

"You  care  for  art  yourself,  M.  Delia  Rocca?" 

4* 


42  ^^'  A    WINTER    CITY. 

Tliere  came  a  gleam  of  interest  in  her  handsome, 
languid  hazel  eyes,  as  she  turned  them  upon  him. 

"  Every  Italian  does,"  he  answered  her.  "  I  do  not 
think  we  are  ever,  or  I  think,  if  ever,  very  seldom, 
connoisseurs  in  the  way  that  your  Englishman  and 
Frenchman  is  so.  We  are  never  very  learned  as  to 
styles  and  dates;  we  cannot  boast  the  huckster's  eye  of 
the  Northern  bric-a-brac  hunter :  it  is  quite  another 
thing  with  us ;  we  love  art  as  children  their  nurses' 
tales  and  cradle-songs ;  it  is  a  familiar  affection  with 
us,  and  affection  is  never  very  analytical ;  the  Robbia 
over  the  cha})el-door,  the  apostle-pot  that  the  men  in 
the  stables  drink  out  of,  the  Sodoma  or  the  Beato 
Angelico  that  hangs  before  our  eyes  daily  as  we  dine, 
the  old  bronze  secchia  that  we  wash  our  hands  in  as 
boys  in  the  loggia, — these  are  all  so  homely  and  dear 
to  us  that  w'e  grow  up  with  a  love  for  them  all  as 
natural  as  our  love  for  our  mothers.  You  will  say  the 
children  of  all  rich  people  see  beautiful  and  ancient 
things  from  their  birth ;  so  they  do,  but  not  as  we  see 
them :  here  they  are  too  often  degraded  to  the  basest 
household  uses,  and  made  no  more  account  of  than  the 
dust  which  gathers  on  them ;  but  that  very  neglect  of 
them  makes  them  the  more  kindred  to  us.  Art  else- 
where is  the  guest  of  the  salon, — with  us  she  is  the 
playmate  of  the  infant  and  the  serving-maid  of  the 
peasant :  the  mules  may  drink  from  an  Etruscan  sar- 
cophagus, and  the  pigeons  be  fed  from  a  patina  of  the 
twelfth  century." 

Lady  Hilda  listened  with  the  look  of  awakened  in- 
terest still  in  her  large  eyes;  he  spoke  in  his  own  tongue, 
and  with  feeling  and  grace:  it  was  new  to  her  to  find 


I\  A    WINTER    CITV.  4^ 

a  mnn  willi  whom  art  was  an  emotion  instead  of  an 
oj)ini()n. 

Tlie  art  world  she  had  met  with  Avas  one  that  was 
very  positive,  very  eclectic,  very  hypercritical,  very 
highly  cnltured ;  it  had  many  theories  and  elegant 
])hrases;  it  laid  down  endless  doctrines,  and  fonnd 
pleasure  in  endless  disputations.  Whenever  she  had 
tired  of  the  world  of  fashion,  this  was  the  world  she 
had  turned  to ;  it  had  imbued  her  with  knowledge  of 
art,  and  immeasurable  contempt  for  those  to  whom  art 
was  a  dead  letter;  but  art  had  remained  with  her  rather 
an  intellectual  dissipation  than  a  tenderness  of  senti- 
ment. 

"  As  you  care  for  these  things,  madame,"  continued 
Delia  Rocca,  with  hesitation,  "  might  I  one  day  hope 
that  you  would  honor  my  poor  villa?  It  has  little  else 
left  in  it,  but  there  are  still  a  few  rare  pieces  of  Gubbio 
and  Urbino  and  Faenza,  and  I  have  a  Calvary  which, 
if  not  by  Lucca  himself,  is  certainly  by  Andrea  della 
Robbia." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  them.     Your  villa  is  near?" 

"  About  ten  miles'  distance,  up  in  the  hills.  It  was 
once  a  great  stronghold  as  well  as  palace.  Now  it  can 
boast  no  interest  save  such  as  may  go  with  fallen  for- 
tunes. For  more  than  a  century  we  have  been  too  poor 
to  be  able  to  do  any  more  than  keep  wind  and  water 
out  of  it ;  and  it  had  been  cleared  before  my  time  of 
almost  everything  of  value.  Happily,  however,  the 
chestmit  woods  outside  it  have  not  been  touched.  They 
shroud  its  nakedness." 

"Your  villa,  Delia  Rocca?"  cried  Madame  de  Ca- 
viare, who  had  known  him  for  several  years.    "I  have 


44  I^'  -^    WINTER    CITY. 

never  seen  it ;  we  will  drive  out  there  some  clay  when 
the  cold  winds  are  gone " 

"  Vous  me  comblez  de  bontes,"  he  answered,  with  a 
low  bow.  "  Alas,  madame,  there  is  very  little  that  will 
repay  you  :  it  is  hardly  more  than  a  ruin.  But  if  you 
and  Miladi  will  indeed  honor  it " 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  place  still,"  said  the  Due  de  St. 
Louis,  a  little  impatiently.  "  It  has  suffered  in  sieges, 
and  is  by  so  much  the  more  interesting.  For  myself, 
I  endure  very  much  pain  from  having  a  whole  house, 
and  one  built  no  later  than  1730.  My  great-grandfather 
pulled  down  the  noble  old  castle,  built  at  the  same  time 
as  Chateau-Gaillard, — imagine  the  barbarism  ! — and 
employed  the  ponderous  rocaille  of  Oppenord  to  replace 
it.  It  is  very  curious,  but  loss  of  taste  in  the  nobles 
has  always  been  followed  by  a  revolution  of  the  mob. 
The  decadence  always  ushers  in  the  democracy." 

"  We  may  well  be  threatened,  then,  in  this  day  with 
universal  equality !"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  hiding  a  very 
small  yawn  behind  her  fan. 

"  Nay,  madame,"  said  Delia  Rocca.  "  In  this  day 
the  nobles  do  not  even  do  so  much  as  to  lead  a  wrong 
taste  ;  they  accept  and  adopt  every  form  of  it,  as  im- 
posed on  them  by  their  tailors,  their  architects,  their 
clubs,  and  their  municipalities,  as  rocaille  was  imposed 
by  the  cabinet-makers." 

"  How  fearfully  serious  you  all  are  !*'  said  Madame 
de  Caviare.  "  There  is  that  dreadful  Canadian  woman 
standing  up, — what  rubies  ! — how  fond  vulgar  women 
always  are  of  rubies  !  That  pa^se-partout  of  hers  is 
rather  pretty  ;  gold  thread  on  blondine  satin,  is  it  not, 
Hilda  ?     My  glass  is  not  very  strong " 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  45 

Lady  Hilda  looked  through  her  glass,  and  decided 
the  important  point  in  the  affirmative. 

"  How  she  is  rouged  !"  pursued  the  countess.  "  1 
am  sure  Altavante  did  not  lay  that  on  ;  he  is  much  too 
artistic.     Maurice,  have  you  a  cigarette  ?" 

"  It  is  not  allowed,  ma  chere,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Madame  de  Caviare,  accepting  a  little 
delicate  paper  roll.  "It  was  very  kind  of  you,  Hilda, 
to  remind  me  of  that;  you  wished  me  to  enjoy  it. 
Won't  you  have  one  too  ?" 

Lady  Hilda  said  "  No"  with  her  fan. 

"  If  the  Rococo  brought  the  Revolution,  Due,"  she 
asked,  "  what  will  our  smoking  bring  ? — the  end  of  the 
world  ?" 

"  It  will  bring  animosity  of  the  sexes,  abolition  of 
the  marriage-laws,  and   large  increase  of  paralysis," 
replied  M.  de  St.  Louis,  with  great  decision. 

"  You  have  answered  me  without  a  compliment : — 
what  flattery  to  my  intelligence  !" 

"  Miladi,  I  never  flatter  you.  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  imitating  all  the  world." 

"  You  look  severe,  Delia  Rocca,"  said  Madame  Mila. 
"  Do  you  disapprove  of  women  smoking?" 

"  Madame,  a  woman  of  grace  lends  grace  to  all  she 
does,  no  doubt." 

" That  is  to  say,  you  don't  approve  it?" 

"  Madame,  I  merely  doubt  whether  Lionardo  would 
have  painted  Mona  Lisa  had  she  smoked." 

"  What  a  good  idea  you  give  me ! — I  will  be  painted 
by  Millais  or  Cabanel,  smoking.  It  will  be  novel.  The 
cigar  shall  be  in  my  mouth.  I  will  send  you  the  first 
photograph.     Ah  !  there  is  Nordlingen ;  he  will  come 


46  i^V  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

over  here,  and  he  is  the  greatest  bore  in  Europe.  You 
know  what  your  king  here  said  when  Nordlingen  had 
bored  him  at  three  audiences  about  heaven  knows  what : 
*  I  never  knew  the  use  of  sentinels  before :  let  that 
man  be  shot  if  he  ask  audience  again !'  We  cannot 
shoot  him;  let  u^  go  to  supper.  Due,  you  will  follow 
us,  with  M.  des  Gommeux? — and  you  too,  Delia  Rocca? 
There  is  that  odious  Canadian  woman  going ;  let  us 
make  haste ;  I  should  like  to  see  that  blondine  cloak 
close ;  I  shall  know  whether  it  looks  like  Worth  or 
Pingat." 

She  passed  out  on  the  Due's  arm,  and  the  Lady 
Hilda  accepted  Delia  Rocca's,  while  the  well-trained 
Maurice,  who  knew  his  duties,  rushed  to  find  the  foot- 
man in  the  vestibule,  and  to  arrest  another  gilded  youth 
and  kindred  s])irit,  a  M.  des  Poisseux,  whom  Madame 
Mila  had  espied  in  the  crowd  and  charged  him  to  bring 
with  him  to  supper.  Madame  Mila  preferred,  to  all 
the  world,  the  young  men  of  her  world  of  five-and- 
twenty  or  less ;  they  had  no  mind  whatever,  they  had 
not  character  enough  to  be  jealous,  and  they  were  as  full 
of  the  last  new  scandals  as  any  dowager  of  sixty. 

"They  talk  of  the  progress  of  this  age:  contrast  M. 
de  St.  Louis  with  M.  des  Gommeux  and  M.  des  Pois- 
seux !"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  with  her  little  contempt.- 
uous  smile. 

Delia  Rocca  laughed. 

"  You  make  me  for  the  first  time,  madame,  well  con- 
tent to  belong  to  what  the  Gommeux  and  the  Poisseux 
would  call  a  past  generation.  But  there  are  not  many 
like  our  friend  the  Due;  he  has  stepped  down  to  us 
from  the  terraces  of  Marly;  I  am  certain  he  went  to 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  47 

sleep  one  night  after  a  gavotte  wUh  Montespan,  and 
has  only  just  awakened." 

The  supper  was  gay  and  bright;  Lady  Hilda,  reject- 
ing chicken  and  champagne  and  accepting  only  ice- water 
and  cigarettes,  deigned  to  be  amusing,  tliough  sarcastic, 
and  Madame  Mila  was  always  in  one  of  the  two  ex» 
tremes, — either  syncope,  sal  volatile,  and  hysterics,  or 
laughter,  frolic,  smoke,  and  risque  stories. 

She  and  her  sisterhood  spend  their  lives  in  this  see- 
saw ;  the  first  state  is  for  the  mornings,  when  they  re- 
member their  losses  at  play,  their  lovers'  looks  at  other 
women,  the  compromising  notes  they  have  written,  and 
how  much  too  much  to  be  safe  their  maids  know  of 
them ;  the  second  state  is  for  the  evenings,  when  they 
have  tlieir  war-paint  on,  have  taken  a  little  nij)  of  some 
stimulant  at  afternoon  tea,  are  going  to  half  a  dozen 
houses  between  midnight  and  dawn,  and  are  quite  sure 
their  lovers  never  even  see  that  any  other  women 
exist. 

"  He  could  not  have  a  better  illustration  of  the  differ- 
ence between  a  woman  with  taste  and  a  woman  without 
it,"  thought  the  Due  de  St.  Louis,  surveying  the  two ; 
the  countess  had  a  million  or  two  of  false  curls  in  a 
tower  above  her  pretty  tiny  face,  was  almost  as  decol- 
Idee  as  a  Guiza  picture,  chirped  the  fashionable  slang 
of  the  boulevards  and  salons  in  the  shrillest  and  swift- 
est of  voices,  and  poured  forth  slanders  that  were  more 
diverting  than  decorous. 

Lady  Hilda  was  dressed  like  a  picture  of  Marie  An- 
toinette in  1770;  her  rich  hair  was  lifted  from  her  low 
fair  forehead  in  due  keeping  with  her  costume;  she 
swept  aside  her  cousin's  naughty  stories  with  as  much 


48  IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

tufstc  as  conleiiipt,  and  spoke  a  Frencli  which  Marie 
Antoinette  could  have  recognized  as  the  language  in 
which  Voltaire  once  scoffed  and  Andre  Chenier  sighed. 
To  be  sure,  she  did  smoke  a  little ;  but  then  even  the 
most  perfect  taste  cannot  quite  escape  the  cachet  of  its 
era. 

"It  was  not  necessary,  my  friend,  to  say  that  your 
place  was  so  poor,"  said  M.  de  St.  Louis,  as  they  went 
out  of  the  hotel  together :  he  had  known  his  companion 
from  boyhood. 

"  1  am  not  ashamed  of  my  poverty,"  said  Delia 
Rocca,  somewhat  coldly.  "  Besides,"  he  added,  with  a 
laugh  which  had  not  much  mirth  in  it,  "  our  poverty  is 
as  well  known  as  that  of  the  city.  I  think  the  most 
dishonest  Delia  Rocca  could  not  conceal  it  by  his  adroit- 
ness, any  more  than  Floralia  could  conceal  her  public 
debt." 

"  That  may  be,  but  neither  you  nor  the  town  need 
proclaim  the  state  of  your  affairs,"  said  the  Due,  who 
never  gave  up  an  opinion.  "  You  should  let  her  be 
interested  in  you  before  you  make  it  so  evident  that 
such  silence  is  quite  permissible.  You  need  say  no- 
thing ;  you  need  hide  nothing ;  you  need  only  let  things 
alone." 

"  My  dear  Due,"  said  Delia  Rocca,  with  a  laugh  that 
had  merriment  in  it  and  some  irritation,  "  think  for 
one  moment  of  that  woman's  position,  and  say  could 
anything  ever  induce  her  to  change  it, — except  one 
thing?  Riches  could  add  nothing  to  her;  the  highest 
rank  could  scarcely  be  any  charm  to  her ;  she  has  every- 
thing she  can  want  or  wish  for; — if  she  had  the  power 
of  wishing  left,  which   I  doubt,  the  only  spell   that 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  49 

might  enchain  lier  would  be  love,  if  she  have  any  ca- 
pacity to  feel  it,  which  I  doubt  also. — Well,  granted 
that  aroused,  what  would  poverty  or  riches  in  her  lover 
matter  to  one  who  has  secure  forever  a  golden  pedestal 
of  her  own  from  which  to  survey  the  wars  of  the  world  ? 
She  refused  the  Prince  of  Deutschland ;  that  I  know, 
since  he  told  me  himself ;  and  men  do  not  boast  of  re- 
jections: what  position,  pray,  would  ever  tempt  her 
since  she  refused  Deutschland? — and  he  has  all  personal 
attractions,  too,  as  well  as  his  future  crown." 

"  Still,  granting  all  that,  to  make  your  lack  of  fortune 
so  very  conspicuous  is  to  render  your  purpose  conspicu- 
ous also,  and  to  draw  her  attention  to  it  unwisely,"  said 
the  Due,  who  viewed  all  these  matters  calmly,  as  a  kind 
of  mixture  of  diplomacy  and  business. 

"  Caro  mio,"  said  Delia  Eocca,  lightly,  as  he  de- 
scended the  last  step,  "  be  very  sure  that  if  I  ever  have 
such  a  purpose  your  Lady  Hilda  has  too  much  wit  not 
to  perceive  it  in  a  day.  But  I  have  not  such  a  purpose. 
I  do  not  like  a  woman  who  smokes." 

And  with  a  good-night  he  walked  away  to  his  own 
house,  which  was  a  street  or  two  distant.  The  Due 
chuckled,  no  wise  discomfited. 

"  An  Italian  always  swears  he  will  never  do  the  thing 
he  means  to  do  in  an  hour,"  he  reflected,  as  he  got  in 
his  cab. 

The  Delia  Rocca  Palace  was  let  to  many  tenants  and 
in  various  divisions ;  he  himself  retained  only  a  few 
chambers  looking  upon  the  old  quiet  green  garden, 
high- walled,  dark  with  ilex,  and  musical  with  foun- 
tains. 

He  crossed  the  silent  courts,  mounted  the  vast  black 
c  6  i> 


50  IN  A   WINTER   CITF. 

stairways,  and  entered  liis  solitary  rooms.  There  was 
a  lamp  burning;  and  his  dog  got  up  and  welcomed 
him.  He  slipped  on  an  old  velvet  smoking-coat, 
.  lighted  a  cigar,  and  sat  down  :  the  counsels  and  projects 
of  JM.  de  St.  Louis  were  not  so  entirely  rejected  by  him 
as  he  had  wished  the  Due  to  suppose. 

He  admired  her ;  he  did  not  approve  her ;  he  was 
not  even  sure  that  he  liked  her  in  any  way ;  but  he 
could  not  but  see  that  here  at  last  was  the  marriage 
which  would  bring  the  resurrection  of  all  his  fortunes. 

Neither  did  he  feel  any  of  the  humility  which  he 
had  expressed  to  M.  de  St.  Louis.  Though  she  might 
be  as  cold  as  people  all  said  she  was,  he  had  little  fear, 
if  he  once  endeavored,  he  would  fail  in  making  his 
way  into  her  grace.  AVith  an  Italian,  love  is  too  per- 
fect a  science  for  him  to  be  uncertain  of  its  results. 

Besides,  he  believed  that  he  detected  a  different  char- 
acter in  her  to  what  the  world  thought,  and  she  also 
thought,  was  her  own.  He  thought  men  had  all  failed 
with  her  because  they  had  not  gone  the  right  road 
to  work.  After  all,  to  make  a  woman  in  love  with  you 
was  easy  enough.     At  least  he  had  always  found  it  so. 

She  was  a  woman,  too,  of  unusual  beauty,  and  of 
supreme  grace,  and  a  great  alliance;  her  money  would 
restore  him  to  the  lost  power  of  his  ancestors,  and  save 
a  mighty  and  stainless  name  from  felling  into  that 
paralysis  of  poverty  and  that  dust  of  obscurity  whicii 
is  sooner  or  later  its  utter  extinction.  She  seemed  cast 
across  his  path  by  a  caress  of  Fortune,  from  which  it 
would  be  madness  to  turn  aside.  True,  he  had  a  wholly 
different  ideal  for  his  wife;  he  disliked  those  world- 
famous  elegantes;  he  disliked  Avomen  who  smoked  and 


IN  A   WINTER   CITY.  51 

knew  their  Paris  as  thoroughly  as  Houssaye  or  Dumas  ; 
he  disliked  the  extravagant,  artificial,  empty,  frivolous 
life  they  led,  their  endless  chase  after  new  excitements, 
and  their  insatiable  appetite  for  "  frissons  nouveaux ;" 
lie  disliked  their  literature,  their  habits,  their  cynicisru, 
their  ennui,  their  coldness,  and  their  dissipations ;  he 
knew  them  well,  and  disliked  them  in  all  things ;  what 
he  desired  in  his  wife  were  natural  emotions,  unworn 
innocence,  serenity,  simplicity,  and  freshness  of  enjoy- 
ment :  though  he  was  of  the  world,  he  did  not  Ciire 
very  much  for  it ;  he  had  a  meditative,  imaginative 
temperament,  and  the  whirl  of  modern  society  was  soon 
wearisome  to  him ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  knew  the 
world  too  well  to  want  a  woman  beside  him  who  knew 
it  equally  well. 

On  the  whole,  the  project  of  M.  de  St.  Louis  repelled 
as  much  as  it  attracted  him.  Yet  his  wisdom  told  him 
that  it  was  the  marriage  beyond  all  others  which  would 
best  fulfill  his  destiny  in  the  way  which  from  his  earli- 
est years  he  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  as  inevita- 
ble ;  and  moreover  there  was  something  about  her  which 
charmed  his  senses,  though  his  judgment  feared  and  in 
some  things  his  taste  disapproved  her. 

Besides,  to  make  so  self-engrossed  a  woman  love, — 
he  smiled  as  he  sat  and  smoked  in  the  solitude  of  his 
great  dim  vaulted  room,  and  then  he  sighed  impatiently. 

After  all,  it  was  not  a  hecm  rule  to  woo  a  woman  for 
the  sheer  sake  of  her  fortune ;  and  he  was  too  true  a 
gentleman  not  to  know  it.  And  what  would  money 
do  for  him  if  it  were  hers  and  not  his? — it  would  only 
humiliate  him.  lie  felt  no  taste  for  the  position  of  a 
prince  consort:  it  would  pass  to  his  children  certainly 


52  /^V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

after  him,  and  so  raise  up  the  old  name  to  its  olden 
dignity ;  but  for  himself 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window ;  the  clear 
winter  stars,  large  before  morning,  were  shining  through 
the  iron  bars  and  lozenged  panes  of  the  ancient  case- 
ment ;  the  fountain  in  the  cortile  was  shining  in  the 
moonlight;  the  ducal  coronet,  carved  in  stone  above 
the  gateway,  stood  out  whitely  from  the  shadows. 

"  After  all,  she  would  despise  me,  and  I  should  de- 
spise myself,"  he  thought:  the  old  coronet  had  been 
sadly  battered  in  war,  but  it  had  never  been  chaffered 
and  bought. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Delia  Rocca,  Hilda?" 
asked  Madame  Mila  at  the  same  hour  that  night,  toast- 
ing her  pink  satin  slipper  before  her  dressing-room  fire. 

Lady  Hilda  yawned,  unclasping  her  riviere  of  sap- 
phires. 

"  He  has  a  very  good  manner.  There  is  some  truth 
in  what  Olga  Schouvaloff  always  maintains,  that  after 
an  Italian  all  other  men  seem  boors." 

"  I  am  sure  Maurice  is  not  a  boor !"  said  the  coun- 
tess, pettishly. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear :  he  parts  his  hair  in  the  middle, 
talks  the  last  new,  unintelligible,  aristocratic  argot,  and 
he  has  the  charms  of  every  actress  and  dancer  in  Paris 
catalogued  clearly  in  a  brain  otherwise  duly  clouded, 
a.s  fashion  requires,  by  brandy  in   the  morning  and 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  53 

absinthe  before  dinner!  Boors  don't  do  those  things, 
nor  yet  get  half  as  learned  as  to  Mile.  Eose  The  and 
la  Petite  Boulotte." 

Madame  Mila  reddened  angrily. 
"  What  spiteful  things  to  say  !     He  never  lockeil  at 
that  hideous  little   Boulotte,  or  any  of  the  horriWe 
creatures ;  and  he  never  drinks  ;  he  ls  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman." 

"  Not  quite  that,  ma  chere ;  if  he  had  been,  he  would 
either  have  dismissed  himself  or  made  you  dismiss 
your  husband !" 

Madame  Mila  raged  in  passionate  wrath  for  five 
minutes,  and  then  began  to  cry  a  little,  whimperingly. 
Lady  Hilda  gathered  up  her  riviere,  took  her  candle- 
stick, and  bade  her  good-night. 

"It  is  no  use  making  that  noise,  Mila,"  she  said, 
coolly.  "  You  have  always  known  what  I  think  ;  but 
you  prefer  to  be  in  the  fashion ;  of  course  you  must  go 
on  as  you  like;  only  please  to  remember, — don't  let 
me  see  too  much  of  Des  Gommeux." 

Madame  Mila,  left  alone  to  the  contemplation  of  her 
pink  slippers,  fumed  and  sulked  and  felt  very  angry 
indeed ;  but  she  had  borrowed  a  thousand  pounds  some 
six  or  eight  times  from  the  Lady  Hilda  to  pay  her 
debts  at  play ;  and  of  course  it  was  such  a  trifle  that 
she  had  always  forgotten  to  pay  it  again,  because  if 
ever  she  had  any  ready  money  there  was  always  some 
jeweler  or  man  dressmaker,  or  creditor  of  some  kind 
who  would  not  wait ;  and  then,  though  it  was  not  her 
fault,  because  she  played  as  high  as  she  could  any  night 
she  got  a  chance  to  do  so,  somehow  or  other  she  gen- 
erally lost,  and  never  had  a  single  sou  to  spare  :  so  she 


54  AY  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

muttered  her  rage  to  the  pink  slippers  alone,  and  de- 
cided that  it  was  never  worth  while  to  be  put  out  about 
the  Lady  Hilda's  "  ways." 

"  She  is  a  bit  of  ice  herself,"  she  said  to  her  slippers, 
and  wondered  how  Lady  Hilda  or  anybody  else  could 
object  to  what  she  did,  or  see  any  harm  in  it.  Maurice 
always  went  to  anotlier  hotel. 

Mme.  Mila  lived  her  life  in  a  manner  very  closely 
resembling  that  of  the  horrible  creatures  Miles.  Hose 
The  and  Boulotte ;  really,  when  compared  by  a  cynic, 
there  was  very  little  difference  to  be  found  between 
those  persons  and  pretty  Madame  Mila. 

But  Rose  Th6  and  Boulotte  of  course  were  creatures, 
and  she  was  a  very  great  little  lady,  and  went  to  all 
the  courts  and  embassies  in  Europe,  and  was  sought 
and  courted  by  the  very  best  and  stifPest  people,  being 
very  chic  and  very  rich,  and  very  lofty  in  every  way, 
and  very  careful  to  make  Maurice  go  to  a  diflferent 
hotel. 

She  had  had  twenty  Maurices  in  her  time,  indeed, 
but  then  the  Count  de  Caviare  never  complained,  and 
was  careful  to  drive  with  her  in  the  Bois,  and  pass  at 
least  three  months  of  each  year  under  the  same  roof 
with  her ;  so  that  nobody  could  say  anything,  it  being 
an  accepted  axiom  with  Society  that  when  the  husband 
does  not  object  to  his  own  dishonor  there  is  no  dishonor 
at  all  in  the  matter  for  any  one.  If  he  be  sensitive  to 
it,  then  indeed  you  must  cut  his  wife,  and  there  will  be 
nothing  too  bad  to  be  said  of  her ;  but  if  he  only  do 
but  connive  at  his  own  infamy  himself,  then  all  is  quite 
right,  and  everything  is  as  it  should  be. 

When  the  Prince  of  Cra(!OW,  with  half  Little  Russia 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  55 

in  his  possession,  entertains  the  beautiful  Lady  Light- 
wood  at  a  banquet  at  his  villa  at  Frascati,  llichmond, 
or  Auteuil,  a  score  of  gilded  lackeys  shout,  "  La  voiture 
de  Madame  la  Comtesse !"  the  assembled  guests  receive 
her  sweet  good-night,  the  Prince  of  Cracow  bows  low 
and  thanks  her  for  the  honor  she  has  done  to  him,  she 
goes  out  at  the  hall  door,  and  the  carriage  bowls  away 
with  loud  crash  and  fiery  steeds  and  rolls  on  its  way 
out  of  the  park  gates.  Society  is  quite  satisfied.  So- 
ciety knows  veiy  well  that  a  million  roubles  find  their 
yearly  way  into  the  empty  pockets  of  Lord  Lightwood, 
and  that  a  little  later  the  carriage  will  sweep  round 
again  to  a  side-door  hidden  under  the  laurels  wide 
open,  and  receive  the  beautiful  Lady  Lightwood :  but 
what  is  that  to  Society?  It  has  seen  her  drive  away: 
that  is  quite  sufficient ;  everybody  is  satisfied  with  that. 

If  you  give  Society  very  good  dinners,  Society  will 
never  be  so  ill-bred  as  to  see  that  side-door  under  your 
laurels. 

Do  drive  out  at  the  hall  door ;  do, — for  the  sake  of 
les  Bienseances ;  that  is  all  Society  asks  of  you  :  there 
are  some  things  Society  feels  it  owes  to  Itself,  and  this 
is  one  of  them. 

Of  course,  whether  you  come  back  again  or  not,  can 
be  nobody's  business. 

Society  can  swear  to  the  fact  of  the  hall  door. 

Madame  Mila  was  attentive  to  the  matter  of  the  hall 
door;  indeed,  abhorred  a  scandal, — it  always  made 
everything  uncondbrtable.  She  was  always  careful  of 
appearances.  Even  if  you  called  on  her  unexpectedly, 
Des  Gommeux  was  always  in  an  inner  room,  unseen, 
and  you  could  declare  with  a  clear  conscience  that  you 


56  IN  A    WINTER   CITV. 

never  found  him  with  her,  Avcre  the  oath  ever  required 
in  defense  of  lier  clmracter.  Of  course,  you  have  no 
sort  of  business  witli  who  or  wliat  may  be  in  inner 
rooms :  Society  does  not  require  you  to  searcli  a  house 
as  if  you  were  a  detective. 

If  you  can  say,  coolly,  "  Oh,  there's  nothing  in  it ; 
I  never  see  him  there,"  Society  believes  you,  and  is 
quite  satisfied  :  that  is,  if  it  wishes  to  believe  you ;  if 
it  do  not  wish,  nothing  would  ever  satisfy  it, — no,  not 
though  there  rose  one  from  the  dead  to  bear  Avitness. 

Madame  Mila  would  not  have  done  anything  to 
jeopardize  her  going  to  courts,  and  having  all  the 
embassies  to  show  her  jewels  in,  for  anything  that  any 
man  in  the  whole  world  could  have  offered  her. 

Madame  Mila  thought  a  woman  who  left  her  hus- 
band and  made  a  scandal,  a  horrid  creature ;  nay,  she 
was  worse,  she  was  a  blunderer,  and  by  her  l)lunder 
made  a  great  deal  of  unpleasantness  for  other  and 
wiser  women.  After  a  stupid,  open  thing  of  that 
kind,  Society  always  got  so  dreadfully  prudish  for 
about  three  months,  that  it  was  disagreeable  for  every- 
body. To  run  off  with  a  man,  and  lose  your  settle- 
ments, and  very  likely  have  to  end  in  a  boarding-house 
in  Boulogne  ? — could  anything  be  more  idiotic  ? 

Madame  Mila  thought  that  a  woman  so  forgetting 
herself  deserved  even  a  worse  fate  than  the  boarding- 
house.  Madame  Mila,  who  was  quite  content  that  her 
husband  should  make  a  fool  of  himself  about  Blanche 
Souris,  or  anybody  else,  so  long  as  he  walked  arm-in- 
arm now  and  then  with  Des  Gommeux  and  called  him 
"mon  cher,"  was  indeed  in  every  iota  the  true  Femme 
Galante  of  the  nineteenth  century. 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  57 

The  Femme  Galante  has  passed  through  many  vari- 
ous changes,  in  many  countries.  The  dames  of  the 
Decamerone  were  unlike  the  fair  athlete-seekers  of  the 
days  of  Horace;  and  the  powdered  coquettes  of  the 
years  of  Moliere  were  sisters  only  by  the  kinship  of  a 
common  vice  to  the  frivolous  and  fragile  fagot  of  im- 
pulses that  is  called  Frou-frou. 

Thp  Femme  Galante  has  always  been  a  feature  ni 
every  age.  Poets,  from  Juvenal  to  Musset,  have  railed 
at  her;  artists,  from  Titian  to  Winterhalter,  have  painted 
her;  dramatists,  from  Aristophanes  to  Congreve  and 
Beaumarchais  and  Dumas  Fils,  have  pointed  their 
arrows  at  her ;  caricaturists,  from  Archilochus  and 
Simonides  to  Hogarth  and  Gavarni,  have  poured  out 
their  aqua-fortis  for  her.  But  the  real  Femme  Galante 
of  to-day  has  been  missed  hitherto. 

Frou-frou,  who  stands  for  her,  is  not  in  the  least  the 
true  type.  Frou-frou  is  a  creature  that  can  love,  can 
suffer,  can  repent,  can  die.  She  is  false  in  sentimen- 
tality and  in  art,  but  she  is  tender  after  all ;  poor, 
feverish,  wistful,  changeful  morsel  of  humanity, — a 
slender,  helpless,  breathless,  and  frail  thing,  who, 
under  one  sad,  short  sin,  sinks  down  to  death. 

But  Frou-frou  is  in  no  sense  the  true  Femme 
Galante  of  her  day.  Frou-frou  is  much  more  a  fancy 
than  a  fact.  It  is  not  Frou-frou  that  Moliere  would 
have  handed  down  to  other  generations  in  enduring 
ridicule  had  he  been  living  now.  To  Frou-frou  he 
would  have  doffed  his  hat  with  dim  eyes;  what  he 
would  have  fastened  for  all  time  in  his  pillory  would 
have  been  a  very  different,  and  far  more  conspicuous 
offender. 


58  /-V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

The  Femrae  Galante,  who  has  neither  the  scruples 
oor  the  follies  of  poor  Frou-frou ;  who  neither  forfeits 
her  place  nor  leaves  her  lord;  who  has  studied  adultery 
as  one  of  the  fine  arts  and  made  it  one  of  the  domestic 
virtues ;  who  takes  her  lover  to  her  friends'  houses  as 
ehe  takes  her  muff"  or  her  dog,  and  teaches  her  sons  and 
daughters  to  call  him  by  familiar  names ;  who  writes 
notes  of  assignation  with  the  same  pen  that  calls  her 
boy  home  from  school,  and  who  smooths  her  child's 
curls  with  the  same  fingers  that  stray  over  her  lover's 
lips ;  who  challenges  the  world  to  find  a  flaw  in  her, 
and  who  smiles  serene  at  her  husband's  table  on  a  so- 
ciety she  is  careful  to  conciliate ;  who  has  woven  tJie 
most  sacred  ties  and  most  unholy  pleasures  into  so  deft 
a  braid  that  none  can  say  where  one  commences  or  the 
other  ends ;  who  uses  the  sanctity  of  her  maternity  to 
cover  the  lawlessness  of  her  license ;  and  who,  inca- 
pable alike  of  the  self-abandonment  of  love  or  of  the 
self-sacrifice  of  duty,  has  not  even  such  poor,  cheap 
lionor  as  in  the  creatures  of  the  streets  may  make  guilt 
loyal  to  its  dupe  and  partner. 

This  is  the  Femme  Galante  of  the  passing  century, 
who,  with  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm,  babbles  of 
her  virtue  in  complacent  boast,  smiles  in  her  lover's 
eyes,  and,  ignoring  such  a  vulgar  word  as  Sin,  talks 
with  a  smile  of  Friendship.  Beside  her  Frou-frou 
were  innocence  itself,  Marion  de  I'Orme  were  honesty, 
Marion  Leseant  were  purity,  Cleopatra  were  chaste, 
and  Faustina  were  faithful. 

She  is  the  female  Tartufe  of  seduction,  the  Precieuse 
Ridicule  of  passion,  the  parody  of  Love,  the  standing 
gibe  of  Womanhood. 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  59 


CHAPTER    Y. 

The  next  day  tlie  Duca  della  Rocca  left  cards  on 
i^ady  Hilda  and  the  Coratesse  de  Caviare,  and  then  for 
a  fortnight  never  went  near  either  of  them,  except  to  ex- 
change a  few  words  with  them  in  other  people's  houses. 
M.  de  St.  Louis,  who  was  vastly  enamored  of  his  pro- 
ject, because  it  was  his  project  (what  better  reason  has 
anybody  ?),  was  irritated  and  in  despair. 

"  You  fly  in  the  face  of  Fate !"  he  said,  with  much 
impatience. 

Delia  Rocca  laughed. 

"  There  is  no  such  person  as  Fate :  she  perished  with 
all  the  rest  of  the  pagan  world  when  we  put  up  our  first 
gas-lamp.  The  two  I  regret  most  of  them  all  are 
Faunus  and  Picus  :  nowadays  we  make  Faunas  into  a 
railway  contractor,  and  shoot  Picus  for  the  market- 
stall." 

"  You  are  very  romantic,"  said  the  Due,  with  serene 
contempt.  "  It  is  an  unfortunate  quality,  and  I  con- 
fess," he  added,  with  a  sigh,  as  if  confessing  a  blemish 
in  a  favorite  horse,  "  that  perhaps  she  is  a  little  deficient 
in  the  other  extreme,  a  little  too  cold,  a  little  too  unim- 
pressionable ;  there  is  absolutely  no  shadow  of  cause  to 
suppose  she  ever  felt  the  slightest  emotion  for  any  one. 
That  gives,  perhaps,  a  certain  hardness.  It  is  not 
natural.    '  Une  petite  faiblesse  donne  tant  de  charme.'  " 

"  For  a  wife,  one  might  dispense  with  the  '  j)etite 
faiblesse,' — for  any  one  else,"  said  Della  Rocca,  with  a 


go  Jy  ^1    WINTER    CITY. 

smile:  the  blemish  did  not  seem  much  of  a  fault  in  his 
eyes. 

"  That  is  a  romantic  notion/'  said  the  Due,  with  a 
little  touch  of  disdain.  "  In  real  truth,  a  woman  is 
easier  to  manage  who  has  had — a  past.  She  knows 
what  to  expect.  It  is  flattering  to  be  the  first  object  of 
passion  to  a  woman.  But  it  is  troublesome:  she  exact** 
so  much !" 

"If  I  were  not  that,  I  have  seldom  cared  to  be  any- 
thing," said  Delia  Rocca. 

"  That  is  an  Italian  amorous  fancy.  Romeo  and 
Othello  are  the  typical  Italian  lovers.  I  never  can  tell 
how  a  Northerner  like  Shakspeare  could  draw  either. 
You  are  often  very  unfaithful;  but  while  you  are  faith- 
ful you  are  ardent,  and  you  are  absorbed  in  the  woman. 
That  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  an  Italian  succeeds  in 
love  as  no  other  man  does.  '  L'art  de  brftler  silen- 
cieusement  le  coeur  d'une  femme,'  is  a  supreme  art  with 
you.  Compared  with  you,  all  other  men  are  children. 
You  have  been  the  supreme  masters  of  the  great  pas- 
sion since  the  days  of  Ovid." 

"  Because  it  is  much  more  the  supreme  pursuit  of 
our  lives  than  it  is  with  other  men.  How  can  Love  be 
of  much  power  where  it  is  inferior  to  fox-hunting,  and 
a  mere  interlude  when  there  is  no  other  sport  to  be  had, 
as  it  is  with  Englishmen?" 

"And  with  a  Frenchman  it  is  always  inferior  to  him- 
self!" confessed  the  French  Due,  with  a  smile.  "At 
least  they  say  so.  But  every  human  being  loves  his 
vanity  first.  'Only  wounded  my  vanity?'  poor  Lord 
Strangford  used  to  say.  '  Pray,  what  dearer  and  more 
integral  part  of  myself  could  you  wound  ?'     He  was 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  GJ 

fery  right.     If  we  are  not  on  good  terms  with  our- 
jelves,  we  can  never  prevail  with  others." 

"Yet  a  vain  man  seldom  succeeds  with  women." 

"  A  man  who  lets  them  see  that  he  is  vain  does  not : 
that  is  another  matter.  Vanity — ah  !  there  is  Miladi, 
she  has  plenty  of  vanity;  yet  it  is  of  a  grandiose  kind, 
and  it  would  only  take  a  little  more  time  and  the  first 
gray  hairs  to  turn  it  into  dissatisfaction.  All  kinds  of 
discontent  are  only  superb  vanities, — Byron's,  Musset's, 
Bolingbroke's " 

A  horse  nearly  knocked  the  Due  down  in  the  midst 
of  his  philosophies  as  he  picked  his  way  delicately 
among  the  standing  and  moving  carriages  to  the  place 
where  the  white  great-coats  with  the  black  velvet  col- 
lars of  the  Lady  Hilda's  servants  were  visible. 

The  Lady  Hilda's  victoria  stood  in  that  open  square 
where  it  is  the  pleasure  of  fashionable  Floralia  to  stop 
its  carriages  in  the  course  of  the  drive  before  dinner. 

The  piazza  is  the  most  unlovely  part  of  the  park ;  it 
has  a  gaunt  red  cafe  and  a  desert  of  hard-beaten  sand, 
and  in  the  middle  there  are  some  few  plants,  and  a  vast 
quantity  of  iron  bordering  laid  out  in  geometrical  pat- 
terns, with  more  hard-beaten  sand  between  them,  this 
being  the  modern  Floralian  idea  of  a  garden;  to  which 
fatal  idea  are  sacrificed  the  noble  ilex  shades,  the  bird- 
filled  cedar  groves,  the  deep  delicious  dreamful  avenues, 
the  moss-grown  ways,  and  the  leaf-covered  fountains, 
worthy  to  shelter  Narcissus  and  to  bathe  Nausicaa, 
which  their  wiser  forefathers  knew  were  alike  the  bless- 
ing and  the  glory  of  this  land  of  the  sun. 

Nevertheless, — perhaps  because  it  is  the  last  place  in 
the  world  where  anybody  with  any  gleam  of  taste  wouM 

6 


62  I^  A    WINTER    CITV. 

be  supposed  ever  voluntarily  to  stop  a  carriage, — here 
motley  modern  society  delights  to  group  its  fusing 
nationalities ;  and  the  same  people  who  bored  each 
other  in  the  morning's  calls,  and  will  bore  each  other 
in  the  evening's  receptions,  bore  each  other  sedu- 
lously in  the  open  air,  and  would  not  omit  the  sa- 
cred ceremonial  for  anything, — unless,  indeed,  it 
rained. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  Floralia  reads  aright  the  gener- 
ation that  visits  it.  The  ilex  shadows  and  the  cedar 
groves  need  Virgil  and  Horace,  Tasso  and  Petrarca, 
Milton  and  Shelley. 

The  Lady  Hilda,  who  never  by  any  chance  paused 
in  the  piazzone,  had  stopped  a  moment  there,  to  please 
Madame  Mila,  who,  in  the  loveliest  lucroyable  bonnet, 
was  seated  beside  her. 

The  men  of  their  acquaintance  flocked  up  to  the 
victoria.  Lady  Hilda  paid  them  scanty  attention,  and 
occupied  herself  buying  flowers  of  the  poor  women 
who  lifted  their  fragrant  basket-loads  to  the  carriage. 
Madame  Mila  chattered  like  the  brightest  of  parroquets, 
and  was  clamorous  for  news. 

"  Quid  novi  ?"  is  the  cry  in  Floralia  from  morning 
till  night,  as  in  Athens.  The  most  popular  people  are 
those  who,  when  the  article  is  not  to  be  had  of  original 
growth,  can  manufacture  it.  Political  news  nobody 
attends  to  in  Floralia ;  financial  news  interests  society 
a  little  more,  because  everybody  has  stocks  or  shares 
in  something  somewhere;  but  the  news  is  gossip, — dear 
delicious  perennial  ever-blessed  gossip,  that  reports  a 
beloved  friend  in  difficulties,  a  rival  in  extremis,  a 
neighbor  no  better  than  she  should  be,  and  some  exalted 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  63 

personage  or  another  caught  hiding  a  king  in  his  sleeve 
at  cards  or  kissing  his  wife's  lady-of-the-bedchaniber. 

Gossip  goes  the  round  of  the  city  in  winter  as  the 
lemonade-stands  do  in  summer. 

If  you  wish  to  be  clioye  and  asked  out  every  night, 
learn  to  manufacture  it;  it  is  very  easy:  take  equal 
parts  of  flour  of  malice  and  essence  of  impudence,  with 
several  pepper-corns  of  improbability  to  spice  it,  some 
candied  lemon-peel  of  moral  reflections,  and  a  few  dro])S 
of  the  ammonia  of  indecency  that  will  make  it  light 
of  digestion,  and  the  toothsome  morsel  will  procure  you 
welcome  everywhere. 

If  you  can  also  chop  up  any  real  Paschal  lamb  of 
innocence  in  very  fine  pieces,  so  that  it  is  minced  and 
hashed  and  unrecognizable  forever,  serve  the  mince 
with  the  vinegar  of  malignity,  and  the  fresh  mint  of 
novelty,  and  you  will  be  the  very  Careme  of  gossip 
henceforward.  Run  about  society  with  your  concoc- 
tions in  and  out  of  the  best  houses,  as  fast  as  you  can 
go,  and  there  will  be  no  end  to  your  popularity.  You 
will  be  as  refreshing  to  the  thirst  of  the  dwellers  in 
them  as  are  the  lemonade-sellers  to  the  throats  of  the 
populace. 

Perhaps  Fate  still  lurked  and  worked  in  the  Latin 
land,  and  had  hidden  herself  under  the  delicate  mara- 
bouts of  the  chapeau  Incroyable ;  at  any  rate,  Madaine 
Mila  welcomed  the  Due  and  his  companion  with  eager- 
ness, and  enjrao-ed  them  both  to  dinner  with  her  on  the 
morrow  in  a  way  that  there  was  no  refusing. 

Madame  Mila  was  discontented  with  the  news  of 
the  day.  All  her  young  men  could  only  tell  her  of 
one  person's  ruin, — poor  Victor  de  Salarvs',  which  she 


64  Jy  A    WINTER   CITY. 

had  always  predicted  and  contributed  to  cause,  and 
which  was  therefore  certainly  the  more  agreeable, — and 
two  scenes  between  married  people  whom  she  knew : 
one  because  the  brute  of  a  husband  would  not  allow 
his  wife  to  have  her  tallest  footman  in  silk  stockings; 
the  otlier  because  the  no  less  a  brute  of  a  husband 
would  not  let  Ms  wife  have  a  Friendshij).  Madame 
Mi  la  scarcely  knew  which  refusal  to  oondcmn  as  the 
most  heartless  and  the  most  vulgar. 

The  Lady  Hilda  dined  with  her  on  the  morrow;  and 
the  little  Comtesse,  with  the  fine  instinct  at  discovering 
future  sympathies  of  a  woman  "qui  a  vecu,"  took  care 
that  Delia  Rocca  took  her  cousin  in  to  dinner. 

"  I  would  give  all  I  possess  to  see  Hilda  attendrie," 
she  said  to  herself.  As  what  she  possessed  just  then 
was  chiefly  an  enormous  quantity  of  unpaid  bills,  per- 
haps she  would  not  have  lost  so  very  much.  But  the 
Lady  Hilda  w^as  not  atfendrie:  she  thought  he  talked 
better  than  most  men,— at  least,  differently, — and  he 
succeeded  in  interesting  her  probably  because  he  had 
been  so  indifferent  in  calling  upon  her.  That  was  all. 
Besides,  his  manner  was  perfect;  it  was  as  vieille  cour 
as  M.  de  St.  Louis's. 

I^ady  Hilda,  who  should  have  been  born  under  Louis 
Quatorze,  suffered  much  in  her  taste  from  an  age  when 
manner,  except  in  the  South,  is  only  a  tradition,  smoth- 
ered under  cigar-ash  and  buried  in  a  gun-case. 

As  for  him,  he  mused,  while  he  talked  to  her,  on  the 
words  of  the  Due,  who  had  known  her  all  her  life. 
Was  it  true  that  she  had  never  felt  even  a  passing 
"  weakness"?  AVas  it  certain  that  she  had  always  been 
as  cold  as  she  looked? 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  66 

He  wished  that  he  could  be  sure. 

After  all,  she  was  a  woman  of  wonderful  charm, 
though  she  did  go  about  with  Madame  Mila,  smoke 
cigarettes  after  dinner,  and  correct  you  as  to  the  last 
mot  made  on  the  boulevards.  He  began  to  think  that 
this  was  only  the  mere  cachet  of  the  world  she  lived  in, 
— only  the  mere  accident  of  contact  and  habit. 

All  women  born  under  the  Second  Empire  have  it 
more  or  less;  and,  after  all,  she  had  but  little  of  it; 
she  was  very  serene,  very  contemptuous,  very  high- 
bred ;  and  her  brilliant,  languid,  hazel  eyes  looked  so 
untroubled  that  it  would  have  moved  any  man  to  wish 
to  trouble  their  still  and  luminous  depths. 

She  seemed  to  him  very  objectless  and  somewhat 
cynical.  It  was  a  pity.  Nature  had  made  her  perfect 
in  face  and  form,  and  gifted  her  with  intelligence,  and 
Fashion  had  made  her  useless,  tired,  and  vaguely 
eynical  about  everything,  as  everybody  else  was  in  her 
world ;  except  that  yet  larger  number  who  resembled 
Madame  Mila, — a  worse  type  still,  according  to  his 
view. 

It  was  a  pity,  so  he  thought,  watching  the  droop  of 
her  long  eyelashes,  the  curve  of  her  beautiful  mouth, 
the  even  coming  and  going  of  her  breath  under  her 
shining  necklace  of  opals  and  emeralds. 

He  began  to  believe  that  the  Due  was  right.  There 
was  no  "past"  in  that  calmest  of  indolent  glances. 

"You  smoke,  madame?"  he  said,  a  little  abruptly  to 
her,  after  dinner. 

She  looked  at  her  slender  roll  of  paper. 

"It  is  a  habit, — like  all  the  rest  of  the  things  one 

docs.     I  do  not  ci\re  about  it." 

G*  E 


66  I^^  A    WINTER    CITV. 

"  Why  do  it,  then?  Are  you  not  too  proud  to  follow 
a  habit,  and  imitate  a  folly  ?" 

She  smiled  a  little,  and  let  the  cigarette  pale  itvS  inef- 
fectual fires  and  die  out. 

"  They  have  not  known  how  to  deal  with  her,"  he 
thought  to  himself;  and  he  sat  down  and  played  ecarte^ 
and  allowed  her  to  win,  though  he  was  one  of  the  best 
players  in  Europe. 

Fate  had  certainly  been  under  the  Incroyable  bonnet 
of  Madame  Mila.  For  during  the  evening  she  sud- 
denly recalled  his  villa,  and  announced  her  intention  of 
coming  to  see  it.  In  her  little  busy  brain  there  was  a 
clever  notion  that  if  she  only  could  get  her  cousin  once 
drawn  into  what  the  Due  Avould  call  a  "petite  fai- 
blesse,"  she  herself  would  hear  no  more  lectures  about 
Maurice ;  and  lectures  are  always  tiresome,  especially 
when  the  lecturer  has  lent  you  several  thousands,  that 
it  would  be  the  height  of  inconvenience  ever  to  be 
reminded  to  repay. 

A  woman  who  has  "  petites  faiblesses"  is  usually 
impatient  with  one  who  has  none;  the  one  who  has 
none  is  a  kind  of  standing  insolence.  Women  corrupt 
more  women  than  men  do,  Lovelace  does  not  hate 
chastity  in  women ;  but  Lady  Beilaston  does  with  all 
her  might. 

Pretty  Madame  Mila  was  too  good-natured  and  also 
too  shallow  to  hate  anything;  but  if  she  could  have 
seen  her  cousin  "compromised"  she  would  have  derived 
an  exquisite  satisfaction  and  entertainment  from  the 
sight.  She  would  also  have  felt  that  Lady  Hilda  would 
have  become  thereby  more  natural  and  more  comfort- 
able company. 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  Q'J 

"  Dear  me !  she  might  have  done  anything  she  had 
liked  all  these  years,"  thought  Madame  Mila ;  "  no- 
body would  have  known  anything;  and  nothing  would 
hurt  her  if  it  were  known,  whilst  she  has  all  that 
money." 

For  Madame  Mila  herself,  perched  on  one  of  the 
very  topmost  rungs  of  the  ladder  of  the  world's  great- 
ness, and  able  therefore  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  there- 
from of  everything,  was  very  shrewd  in  her  way,  and 
knew  that  society  never  was  known  yet  to  quarrel  with 
the  owner  of  fifty  thousand  a  year. 

So  she  carried  her  airy  little  person,  laden  to-night 
with  gold  embroideries  on  dull  Venetian  red  until  she 
looked  like  a  little  figure  made  in  lac,  over  to  the  6cart6- 
table  when  the  ecart6  was  finished,  and  arranged  a  morn- 
ing at  Palestrina  for  the  day  after  to-morrow.  He  could 
only  express  his  happiness  and  honor,  and  his  regrets 
that  Palestrina  was  little  more  than  an  empty  shell  for 
their  inspection. 

The  day  after  the  morrow  was  clear  and  cloudless, 
balmy  and  delicious, — such  days  as  the  Floralian  cli- 
mate casts  here  and  there  generously  amidst  the  winter 
cold,  as  a  foretaste  of  its  paradise  of  summer.  The 
Bnow  was  on  the  more  distant  mountains  of  course,  but 
only  made  the  landscape  more  lovely,  changing  to  the 
softest  blush  color  and  rose  under  the  brightness  of  the 
noonday  sun.  The  fields  were  green  with  the  spring- 
ing cereals;  the  pine  woods  were  filling  with  violets; 
the   water-courses    were    brimmino;    and    boisterouslv 

j  )yous. 

It  was  winter  still,  but  the  sort  of  winter  that  one 
would  expect  in  fairy-land  or  in  the  planet  Venus. 


eg  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

Madame  Mila,  clad  in  the  strictest  Directoire  cos- 
tume, with  a  wonderful  hat  on  her  head  that  carried 
feathers,  grasses,  oleander-flowers,  and  a  bird  of  Dutch 
Guiana,  and  was  twisted  up  on  one  side  in  a  manner 
known  only  to  Caroline  Reboux,  descended  with  her 
^faurice  to  the  Lady  Hilda's  victoria,  lent  her  for  the 
day.  To  drive  into  the  country  at  all  was  an  act 
abominable  and  appalling  to  all  her  ideas. 

In  Paris,  except  on  race-days,  she  never  went  farther 
than  the  lake,  and  never  showed  her  toilettes  at  Ver- 
sailles in  the  Assembly,  because  of  the  endless  drive 
necessary  as  a  means  to  get  there. 

In  country-houses  she  carefully  kept  her  own  room 
till  about  five  o'clock ;  and,  when  forced  for  her  health 
to  go  to  Vichy,  or  St.  Moritz,  or  any  such  place,  she 
played  cards  in  the  mornings,  and,  when  she  was  obliged 
to  go  out,  looked  at  the  other  invalids'  dresses.  Moun- 
tains were  only  unpleasant  things  to  be  tunneled ;  for- 
ests were  tolerable,  because  one  could  wear  such  pretty 
Louis  Quinze  hunting-habits  and  the  curee  by  torch- 
light was  nice ;  the  sea,  again,  was  made  endurable  by 
bathing-costumes,  and  it  was  fun  to  go  and  tuck  up 
your  things  and  hunt  for  prawns  or  pearls  in  the  rock- 
pools  and  shallows, — it  gave  rise  to  many  very  pretty 
situations.  But  merely  to  drive  into  the  country ! — it 
was  only  fit  occupation  for  a  maniac.  Though  she  had 
proposed  it  herself,  the  patient  Maurice  had  a  very 
'nauvais  quart-cV heure  as  they  drove. 

The  Lady  Hilda,  who  was  too  truly  great  an  elegante 
■ever  to  condescend  in  the  open  air  to  the  eccentricities 
and  bizarreries  of  Madame  Mila, — mountebankisms 
worthy  a  traveling  show,  she  considered  them  to  be, — 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  69 

was  clad  in  her  black  sable,  which  contrasted  so  well 
with  the  fairness  of  her  skin,  and  drove  out  with  the 
Princess  Olga,  Carlo  Mareinnia  and  M.  de  St.  Louis 
fronting  them  in  their  Schouvaloff  barouche.  She  did 
not  hate  the  cold,  and  shiver  from  the  fresh  sea-wind, 
and  worry  about  the  badness  of  the  steep  roads,  as 
Madame  Mila  did;  on  the  contrary,  she  liked  the  drive, 
long  though  it  was,  and  felt  a  vague  interest  in  the  first 
sights  of  Palestrina,  its  towers  and  belfries  shining 
white  on  the  mountain-side,  with  tlie  little  villages 
clustered  under  its  broad  dark  ring  of  forest. 

"  What  a  pity  that  Paolo  is  so  poor !"  said  Carlo 
Maremma,  looking  upAvard  at  it. 

"He  carries  his  poverty  with  infinite  grace,"  said  the 
Princess  Olga. 

"He  is  worthy  of  riches,"  said  the  Due. 

Lady  Hilda  said  nothing. 

Palestrina  was  twelve  miles  and  more  from  the  city, 
and  stood  on  the  high  hills  facing  the  southwest;  it 
was  half  fortress,  half  palace ;  in  early  times  its  lords 
had  ruled  from  its  height  all  the  country  round ;  and 
later  on,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century,  a 
great  cardinal  of  the  Delia  Rocca  had  made  it  into  as 
sumptuous  a  dwelling-place  as  Caprarola  or  Poggio  a 
Cajano. 

Subsequently  the  family  had  ranged  itself  against 
the  ruling  faction  of  the  province,  and  had  suffered 
from  war  and  confiscation ;  still  later,  Palestrina  had 
been  plundered  by  the  French  troops  of  Napoleon ; 
yet,  despoiled  and  impoverished  as  it  was,  it  was  majes- 
tic still,  and  even  beautiful ;  for,  unlike  most  such 
places,  it  had  kept  its  girdle  of  oak  and  ilex  woods ; 


70  ^'V  A    WINTER    CITr 

and  its  gardens,  though  wild  and  neglected,  were  un- 
shorn of  their  fair  proportions ;  and  the  fountains  fell 
into  their  marble  basins,  and  splashed  the  maidenhair 
ferns  that  hung  over  them,  as  they  had  done  in  an- 
other age  for  the  delight  of  the  great  cardinal  and  his 
favorites, 

Delia  Rocca  received  them  in  the  southern  loggia,  a 
beautiful  vaulted  and  frescoed  open  gallery,  designed 
by  Braraante,  and  warm  in  the  noonday  sun  as  though 
January  were  June. 

A  king  could  not  have  had  more  grace  of  welcome 
and  dignity  of  courtesy  than  this  ruined  gentleman  j 
he  had  a  very  perfect  manner,  certainly,  thought  the 
Lady  Hilda  once  again.  She  was  one  of  those  women 
(they  are  many)  upon  whom  manner  makes  more  im- 
pression than  mind  or  morals.  Why  should  it  not?  It 
is  the  charm  of  life  and  the  touchstone  of  breeding. 

There  was  only  one  friend  with  him,  a  great  minister, 
who  had  retired  from  the  world  and  given  himself  up 
to  the  culture  of  roses  and  strawberries.  There  was  a 
simple  repast,  from  the  produce  of  his  own  lands,  ready 
in  what  had  been  once  the  banqueting-hall.  It  was 
made  graceful  by  the  old  Venetian  glass,  the  old  Urbino 
plates,  the  old  Cellini  salt-cellars;  and  by  grapes,  regina 
and  salamana,  saved  from  the  autumn,  and  bouquets  of 
Parma  violets  and  Bengal  roses,  in  old  blue  Savona 
vases.  It  was  a  frugal  meal,  but  fit  for  the  tale-tellers 
of  the  Decamerone. 

They  rambled  over  the  great  building  first,  with  its 
vast  windows  showing  the  wide  landscape  of  mountain 
and  plain,  and  far  away  the  golden  domes  and  airy 
spires  of  the  city  shining  through  a  soft  m:st  of  olive- 


IX  A    WINTER    CITV.  ^l 

treevS.  The  glory  of  tliis  house  was  gone,  but  it  was 
beautiful  still,  with  the  sweet  clear  sunlight  streaming 
through  its  innumerable  chambers,  and  touching  the 
soft  hues  of  frescoed  walls  that  had  grown  faded  with 
age  but  had  been  painted  by  Spinello,  by  Francia,  by 
the  great  Frate,  and  by  a  host  whose  names  were  lost, 
of  earnest  workers,  and  men  with  whom  art  had  been 
religion. 

It  was  all  dim  and  worn  and  gmy  with  the  passage 
of  time ;  but  it  was  harmonious,  majestic,  tranquil.  It 
was  like  the  close  of  a  great  life  withdrawn  from  the 
world  into  a  cloistered  solitude  and  content  to  be  alone 
with  its  God. 

"  Do  not  wish  for  riches,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda  to 
him,  as  he  said  something  to  her  of  it.  "  If  you  had 
riches  you  would  desecrate  this;  you  would  *  restore'  it, 
you  would  'embellish'  it,  you  would  ruin  it." 

He  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"  As  it  is,  I  can  only  keep  the  rains  from  entering 
and  the  rats  from  destroying  it.  Poverty,  madame,  is 
only  poetical  to  those  who  do  not  suifer  it.  Look  !"  he 
added,  with  a  laugh,  "  you  will  not  find  a  single  chair, 
I  fear,  that  is  not  in  tatters." 

She  glanced  at  the  great  old  ebony  chair  she  was 
resting  in,  with  its  rich  frayed  tapestry  seat,  and  its 
carved  armorial  bearings. 

"  I  have  suffered  much  more  from  the  staring,  gilded, 
and  satin  abominations  in  a  millionaire's  drawing-room. 
You  are  ungrateful " 

"And  you,  madame,  judge  of  pains  that  have  never 
touched  and  cannot  touch  you.  However,  I  can  be 
but  too  glad  that  Palestrina  pleases  you  in  any  way. 


72  I^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

It  has  the  sunshine  of  heaven,  though  not  of  for- 
tune." 

"  And  I  am  sure  you  woukl  not  give  it  up  for  all  the 
wealth  of  the  Rothschilds/' 

"  No." 

"  How  lovely  this  place  would  look,"  Madame  Mila 
was  saying  at  the  same  moment,  out  of  his  hearing,  to 
the  Princess  Olga,  "  if  Owen  Jones  could  renovate  it 
and  Huby  furnish  it!  Fancy  it  with  all  the  gilding 
re-gilded,  and  the  pictures  restored,  and  Aubussoii  and 
Persian  carpets  everywhere,  and  all  those  horrid  old 
tapestries,  that  must  be  full  of  spiders,  pulled  down 
and  burnt.  What  a  heavenly  place  it  would  be  ! — and 
what  balls  one  might  give  in  it !  Why,  it  would  hold 
ten  thousand  people !" 

"  Poor  Paolo  will  never  be  able  to  do  It,"  said  the 
Princess  Schouvaloff,  "  unless " 

She  glanced  at  the  Lady  Hilda  where  she  sat  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  chamber,  whilst  Delia  Rocca  leaned 
against  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

"  I  think  she  has  a  fancy  for  him,"  said  Madame 
Mila.  **But  as  for  marrying,  you  know. — that,  of 
course,  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  the  princess. 

"Oh,  out  of  the  question,"  said  Madame  Mila, 
hastily.  "  But  if  she  should  take  a  liking  to  him,  it 
would  be  great  fun.  She's  been  so  awfully  exaltee 
about  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Dear  me!  what  a  pity 
all  those  nasty,  old,  dull  frescoes  can't  be  scraped  olf 
and  something  nice  and  bright,  like  what  they  paint 
now,  be  ])ut  there!  but  I  suppose  it  would  take  so 
much    money.     I   should  hang   silk  over   ^hew ;    all 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  73 

these  clouds  of  pale  angels  would  make  me  melancholy 
mad.  There  is  no  style  I  care  a  bit  for  but  Louis 
Quinze.  I  am  having  new  Avall-hangings  for  my  «aloon 
done  by  the  Ste.  Marie  lleparatrice  girls;  a  lovely 
green  satin, — aj^ple-green, — embroidered  with  wreaths 
of  roses  and  broom,  after  flower-groups  by  Fan  tin. 
Louis  Quinze  is  so  cheerful,  and  lets  you  have  such  lots 
of  gilding,  and  the  tables  have  such  nice  straight  legs, 
and  you  always  feel  wath  it  as  if  you  were  in  a  theatre 
and  expecting  the  Jeune  Premier  to  enter.  Here  one 
feels  as  if  one  were  in  a  church." 

"  A  monastery,"  suggested  Princess  Olga. 

Thereon  they  went  and  had  their  luncheon,  and 
Madame  Mila,  studying  the  Capo  di  Monte  dessert- 
service,  ap])raised  its  value, — for  she  was  a  shrewd 
little  woman, — and  wondered,  if  Paolo  della  Pocca 
were  so  poor  as  they  said,  why  did  he  not  send  up  all 
these  old  porcelains  and  lovely  potteries  to  the  Hotel 
Drouot:  Capo  di  Monte,  she  reflected,  sells  for  more 
than  its  weight  in  gold,  now  that  it  is  the  rage  of  the 
fashion.  She  felt  inclined  to  suggest  this  to  him,  only 
she  was  not  quite  sure  how  he  might  take  it.  Italians, 
she  had  heard,  were  so  absurdly  proud  and  susceptible. 

After  luncheon,  they  went  into  the  green  old  gardens, 
green  with  ilex  and  arbutus  and  laurel  and  cypress  av- 
enues, although  it  was  mid-winter ;  and  the  great  min- 
ister discoursed  on  the  charms  of  the  country  and  the 
beauty  of  solitude  in  a  way  that  should  almost  have 
awakened  the  envy  of  Horace  in  his  grave;  and  the 
Due  de  St.  Louis  disagreed  with  him  in  witty  argu- 
ments that  might  have  made  the  shades  of  Rochefou- 
cauld and  Pivarol  jealous, 
n  7 


71  IX  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

And  they  rambled  and  idled  and  talked  and  saun- 
tered in  those  charming  hours  which  an  Italian  villa 
alone  can  create ;  and  then  the  Ave  Maria  chimed  frr^ni 
the  belfries  of  a  convent  up  above  on  the  hill,  and  the 
winds  grew  chill,  and  the  carriages  were  called  round 
to  the  steps  of  the  southern  terrace,  and  the  old  steward 
brought  to  each  lady  the  parting  gift  of  a  great  cluster 
of  the  sweet  Parma  violets. 

"  Well,  it's  been  pleasanter  than  I  thought  for,"  said 
Madame  Mila,  rolling  homeward.  "But,  oh,  this 
wretched,  odious  road !  I  shall  catch  my  death  of 
cold!" 

Lady  Hilda  was  very  silent  as  they  drove  downward, 
and  left  Palestrina  alone  to  grow  gray  in  the  shades  of 
the  twilight. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"I  THINK  Italians  are  like  Russian  tea;  they  spoil 

you  for  any  other "  wrote  Lady  Hilda  to  her  brother 

Clairvaux.  It  was  not  a  very  clear  phrase,  nor  very 
grammatical ;  but  she  knew  what  she  meant  herself, — 
which  is  more  than  all  writers  can  say  they  do. 

Russian  tea,  or  rather  tea  imported  through  Russia, 
is  so  much  softer  and  of  so  much  sweeter  and  subtler  a 
flavor,  that  once  drinking  it  you  will  find  all  other  tea 
after  it  seem  flat  or  coarse.  When  she  had  written  this 
sentiment,  however,  she  tore  up  the  sheet  of  note-paper 
which  contained  it,  and  tossed  it  in  the  fire :  after  all, 
Clairvaux  would  not  understand, — he  never  understood 


IX  A  wixTKR  cirv.  75 

anytliing,  dear  old  fellow, — and  he  would  be  very  likely 
to  say  all  sorts  of  foolish  things  which  there  was  not  the 
slightest  reason  for  any  one's  supposing. 

"Do  come  out  here  as  soon  as  you  can,"  she  wrote, 
instead.  "  Of  course  it  will  all  depend  on  your  racing 
engagements ;  but  if  you  do  go  to  Paris  to  see  Charles 
Lafitte,  as  you  say,  pray  come  on  here.  Not  that  you 
will  care  for  Floralia  at  all;  you  never  do  care  for  these 
art  cities,  and  it  is  its  art,  and  its  past,  and  its  people 
that  make  its  irresistible  charm.  Floralia  is  so  grace- 
ful and  so  beautiful  and  so  full  of  noble  memories  that 
one  cannot  but  feel  the  motley  society  of  our  own  pres- 
ent day  as  a  sort  of  desecration  to  it ;  the  cocottes  and 
cococdettes,  the  wheel-skaters  and  poker-players,  the 
smokers  and  the  baigneuses  of  our  time  suit  it  sadly  ill : 
it  wants  the  scholars  of  Academe,  the  story-tellers  of 
Boccaccio ;  it  wants  Sordello  and  Stradella,  Desdemona 
and  Giulietta. 

"  One  feels  oneself  not  one-half  good  enough  for  the 
stones  one  treads  upon ;  life  here  should  be  a  perpetual 
Kyrie  Eleison ;  instead  of  which,  it  is  only  a  chorus  of 
OflPenbach's.  Not  that  society  anywhere  now  ever  does 
rise  higher  than  that;  only  here  it  jars  on  one  more 
than  elsewhere,  and  seems  as  profane  as  if  one  '  played 
ball  with  Homer's  skull.' 

"  Floralia  is  a  golden  Ostensoir  filled  with  great 
men's  bones,  and  we  choke  it  up  with  cigar-ashes  and 
champagne-dregs.  It  cannot  be  helped,  I  suppose. 
The  destiny  of  the  age  seems  to  be  to  profane  all  that 
have  preceded  it.  It  creates  nothing, — it  desecrates 
everything.  Society  does  not  escape  from  the  general 
influence;  its  kings  are  all  kings  of  Brentford. 


76  IN  A    WINTER    CITr. 

''Mila — who  is  here  and  happy  as  a  bird — thinks 
Jack  Cade  and  the  Oflenbach  chorus  the  perfection  of 
delight  at  all  times. 

"For  myself,  I  confess,  neither  entertains  me;  I  '^ail 
to  see  the  charm  of  a  drawing-room  democracy  decollete 
and  decoussue ;  and  I  never  did  appreciate  ladies  who 
pass  their  lives  in  balancing  themselves  awkwardly  on 
the  bar  of  Dumas's  famous  Triangle ;  but  that  may  be 
a  prejudice, — Mila  says  that  it  is. 

"By-the-by,  that  odious  young  Des  Gommeux  has 
followed  her  here.  I  make  myself  disagreeable  to  him. 
I  cannot  do  more.  Spiridon  has  never  interfered,  and 
*on  ne  pent  pas  etre  plus  royaliste  que  le  roi.'  But  you 
will  skip  all  this,  or  give  it  to  your  wife.  I  know  I 
never  read  letters  myself,  so  why  should  I  expect  you 
to  do  so?  I  am  so  sorry  to  hear  of  Vieille  Garde's 
sprain ;  it  is  too  vexing  for  you,  just  as  he  was  so  high 
in  the  betting.  I  hope  Sister  to  Simonides  turns  out 
worth  all  we  gave  for  lier.  There  will  be  racing  here 
in  April,  but  it  would  only  make  you  laugh, — which 
would  be  rude;  or  swear, — which  would  be  worse.  So 
please  come  long  before  it." 

She  folded  up  her  letter,  wrote  "  Pray  try  and  come 
soon"  across  the  top  of  it,  and  directed  the  envelope  to 
the  Earl  of  Clairvaux,  Broomsden,  Northampton,  and 
then  was  provoked  to  think  that  she  did  not  want  good, 
clumsy,  honest  Clairvaux  to  come  at  all, — not  in  her 
heart  of  hearts,  because  Clairvaux  was  always  asking 
questions,  and  going  straight  to  the  bottom  of  things  in 
his  own  simple,  sturdy  fashion,  and  never  understood 
anything  that  was  in  the  very  least  complex. 

And  then,  again,  she  was  more  irritated  still  Avith 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  77 

herself,  for  admitting  even  to  licr  own  thoughts  that 
there  was  anything  complex  or  that  she  did  not  want  to 
examine  too  closely, — -just  yet.  And  then  she  sat  and 
looked  into  the  fire,  and  thought  of  Palestrina,  with 
its  sweet  faint  scent  of  Parma  violets,  and  its  dim  nol)le 
frescoes,  and  its  mountain  solitudes,  under  the  clear 
winter  moon. 

She  sat  dreaming  about  it  a  long  time, — for  her, 
because  she  was  not  a  person  that  dreamed  at  all  usu- 
ally. Her  life  was  too  brilliant,  and  too  much  occu- 
pied, and  too  artificial.  She  was  thinking,  wath  a  great 
deal  of  money,  without  desecrating  it  by  "  restoration," 
hut  by  bringing  all  the  art  knowledge  in  the  world  to 
its  enrichment,  it  would  be  possible  to  make  it  as  great 
as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  its  cardinal.  What  a 
pastime  it  would  be,  wdiat  an  interest,  what  an  occu- 
pation almost  for  a  lifetime,  to  render  that  grand  old 
palace  once  more  the  world's  wonder  it  had  been  in  the 
sixteenth  century  ! 

Then  she  rose  suddenly  with  an  impatient  sigh,  and 
went  into  her  bedroom,  and  found  fault  with  her  maids : 
they  had  put  Valenciennes  on  her  petticoats,  and  she 
hated  Valenciennes, — no  other  laces  had  been  so  cheap- 
ened by  imitation  ;  they  had  put  out  her  marron  velvet 
with  the  ostrich  feathers  for  that  day's  wearing,  when 
they  should  have  laid  out  the  silver-gray  cloth  with  the 
Genoa  buttons ;  they  were  giving  her  glace  gloves  in- 
stead of  peau  de  Suede ;  they  had  got  out  Pompadour 
boots,  and  she  required  Paysanne  shoes, — it  was  a  fine 
dry  day.  In  })oint  of  fact,  everything  was  wrong,  and 
they  were  idiots,  and  she  told  them  so  as  strongly  as  a 
high-bred  lady  can  demean  herself  to  speak.     Each 

7* 


78  I^  A    WiyTER    CITY. 

costume  was  put  all  together, — dress,  bonnet,  boots, 
gloves, — everything  ;  what  business  had  they  to  go  and 
mix  them  all  up  and  make  everything  wrong? 

Her  maids  were  used  to  her  displeasure ;  but,  as  she 
was  very  generous,  and  if  they  were  ill  or  in  sorrow  she 
was  kind,  they  bore  it  meekly,  and  contented  themselves 
with  complaining  of  her  in  all  directions  to  their  allies. 

"  If  she  would  only  have  her  petites  affaires  like 
other  ladies,  she  would  be  much  easier  to  content,"  said 
her  head  maid,  who  had  served  the  aristocracy  ever 
since  the  earliest  days  of  the  Second  Empire. 

When  there  were  no  lovers,  there  were  much  fewer 
douceurs  and  perquisites ;  however,  they  endured  that 
deprivation,  because  Miladi  was  so  very  rich  and  so 
easily  plundered. 

Miladi  now,  arrayed  in  the  silver-gray  cloth  with 
the  Genoa  buttons  and  the  marabout  feather  trimming, 
went  out  to  her  victoria,  en  route  to  the  galleries,  of 
which  she  never  tired,  and  the  visits  which  immea- 
surably bored  her.  She  had  been  in  the  great  world  for 
ten  years,  and  the  great  world  is  too  small  to  divert  one 
for  very  long,  unless  one  be  as  Madame  Mila. 

Nevertheless,  the  Lady  Hilda  found  that  Floral ia 
interested  her  more  than  she  would  have  believed  that 
anything  would  do. 

After  all,  Floralia  was  charming  by  the  present,  not 
only  by  the  past.  If  it  had  its  kings  of  Brentford, 
with  Offenbach  choruses,  so  had  every  other  place ;  if 
it  had  a  pot-pourri  of  nationalities,  it  had  some  of  the 
most  agreeable  persons  of  every  nation ;  if  trying  to 
be  very  naughty  it  generally  only  became  very  dull, — 
that  was  the  doom  of  modern  society  everywhere. 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  79 

There  were  charming  houses  in  it,  where  there  M'ere 
real  wit,  real  music,  and  real  welcome.  If  people  saw 
each  other  too  often,  strong  friendships  could  come  out 
of  such  frequency  as  well  as  animosities ;  there  was  a 
great  charm  in  the  familiar,  easy,  pleasant  intimacies 
which  so  naturally  grew  out  of  the  artistic  idling  under 
these  sombre  and  noble  walls,  and  in  the  palaces  where 
all  the  arts  once  reigned. 

She  had  begun  to  take  the  fair  city  into  her  Ijcart, 
as  every  one  who  has  a  iieart  must  needs  do,  once 
having  dwelt  within  the  olive  girdle  of  its  pure  pale 
hills,  and  seen  its  green  waters  wash  the  banks  erst 
peopled  with  the  gorgeous  splendors  of  the  Renais- 
sance. 

She  even  began  to  like  her  daily  life  in  it;  the  morn- 
ings dreamed  away  before  some  favorite  Giorgione  or 
Veronese,  or  spent  in  dim  old  shops  full  of  the  oddest 
mingling  of  rubbish  and  of  treasure;  i\\e  twilights 
spent  in  picture-like  old  chambers,  where  dames  of 
high  degree  had  made  their  winter-quarters,  fragrant 
with  flowers  and  quaint  with  old  tapestries  and  porce- 
lains; the  evenings  passed  in  a  society  which,  too  motley 
to  be  intimate,  yet  too  personal  to  dare  be  witty,  was 
gradually  made  more  than  endurable  to  her,  by  the 
sound  of  one  voice  for  which  she  listened  more  often 
than  she  knew,  by  the  sight  of  one  face  which  grew 
more  necessary  to  her  than  she  was  aware. 

"  If  one  could  be  only  quite  alone  here  it  would  bo 
too  charming,"  she  thought,  driving  this  morning,  while 
the  sun  shone  on  the  golden  reaches  of  the  river,  and 
the  softly-colored  marbles  caught  the  light,  and  the  pic- 
turesf^ue  old  shops  glean)ed  many-liued  as  Harlequin 


80  -^-V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

under  the  beetling  brows  of  projecting  roofs  and  the 
<;arved  stone  of  dark  archways. 

But  if  slie  had  looked  close  into  her  own  heart  she 
would  have  seen  that  the  solitude  of  her  ideal  Avould 
have  been  one  like  the  French  poet's, — solitude  d  deux. 

She  did  not  go,  after  all,  to  her  visits ;  she  went,  in- 
stead, in  and  out  of  the  studios  whose  artists  adored 
her,  though  she  was  terribly  hard  to  please,  and  had 
much  more  acquaintance  with  art  than  is  desirable  in  a 
purchaser. 

In  one  of  the  studios  she  chanced  to  meet  the  master 
of  Palestrina  ;  and  he  went  with  her  to  another  atelier, 
and  another,  and  another. 

She  had  her  Paysanne  shoes  on,  and  her  gold-headed 
cane,  and  let  her  victoria  stand  still  while  she  walked 
from  one  to  the  other  of  those  sculptors'  and  painters' 
dens,  which  lie  so  close  together,  like  beavers'  work,  in 
the  old  gray  quarters  of  the  city. 

Up  and  down  the  dark  staircases,  and  in  and  out  the 
,gloomy  vaulted  passages,  her  silver-gray  cloth  with  the 
marabout  ruches  gleamed  and  glistened,  and  to  many 
of  the  artists  proved  as  beneficent  as  a  silvery  cloud  to 
the  thirsty  field  in  summer. 

She  was  surprised  to  find  how  much  she  liked  it. 
There  was  not  much  genius,  and  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  bad  drawing,  and  worse  modeling,  and  she  had  edu- 
cated herself  in  the  very  strictest  and  coldest  lessons  of 
art,  and  really  cared  for  nothing  later  than  Luca  Signo- 
relli,  and  abhorred  Canova  and  everything  that  has 
come  after  him.  But  there  were  some  little  figures  in 
marble  of  young  children  that  she  could  conscientiously 
buy ;  and  the  little  Meissonnier  and  Fortuny-like  2>ic- 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  81 

tures  were  clever,  if  tlicy  were  mere  trick-work  and 
told  no  story;  and  the  modern  oak  carvings  were  really 
good ;  and  on  the  whole  she  enjoyed  her  morning  un- 
usually; and  her  companion  looked  pleased,  because  she 
foinid  things  to  praise. 

As  she  Avalked,  with  Delia  Rocca  beside  her,  in  and 
out  the  dusky  passage-ways,  with  the  obnoxious  Valen- 
ciennes under  her  skirts  sweeping  the  stones,  and  her 
silvery  marabouts  glancing  like  hoar-frost  in  the  shadows 
of  the  looming  walls,  the  Lady  Hilda  felt  very  happy, 
and  on  good  terms  with  herself  and  the  world.  No 
doubt,  she  thought,  it  was  the  fresh  west  wind  blowing 
up  the  river  from  the  sea  which  had  done  her  so  much 
good. 

The  golden  Ostensoir,  to  which  she  had  likened 
Floralia,  no  longer  seemed  filled  with  cigar-ash  and 
absinthe-dregs,  but  full  of  the  fragrant  rose-leaves  of  an 
imperishable  Past,  and  the  shining  sands  of  a  sweet 
unspent  Time. 

She  made  a  poor  sculptor  happy  for  a  year;  she  freed 
a  young  and  promising  painter  from  a  heavy  debt;  she 
was  often  impatient  with  their  productions,  but  she  was 
most  patient  with  their  troubles. 

She  was  only  a  woman  of  the  world,  touched  for  a 
day  into  warmer  sympathies,  but  the  blessings  she  drew 
down  on  her  sank  somehow  into  her  heart,  and  made 
her  half  ashamed,  half  glad. 

What  was   the   use  of  writing  fine   contemptuous 

things  of  society  unless  one  tried  to  drop  oneself  some 

little  holy  relic  into  the  golden  Reliquary?    She  went 

home  contented,  and  was  so  gentle  with  her  maids  that 

they  thought  she  nuist  be  going  to  be  unwell. 

D*  P 


82  J^  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

Her  friend  the  Princess  Olga  came  to  chat  witli  lier, 
and  they  liad  their  tea  cosily  in  her  dressing-room;  and 
at  eight  o'clock  she  ■went  to  dine  with  JNIrs.  Washington, 
an  American  Parisienne  or  Parisian  American,  known 
wherever  the  world  of  fashion  extended,  and  was  taken 
in  to  dinner  by  the  Duca  della  Rocca. 

After  dinntir  there  was  a  new  tenor,  who  was  less  of 
a  delnsion  than  most  new  tenors  are ;  and  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  very  aesthetic  and  abstruse  talk  about 
music ;  she  said  little  herself,  but  sat  and  listened  to 
Della  Rocca,  who  spoke  much  and  eloquently  with  in- 
finite grace  and  accurate  culture.  To  a  woman  who 
has  cared  for  no  one  all  her  life,  there  is  the  strangest 
and  sweetest  pleasure  in  finding  at  last  one  voice  whose 
mere  sound  is  melody  to  her. 

On  the  whole,  she  went  to  bed  still  with  that  dream- 
ful content  which  had  come  on  her  in  the  day, — no 
doubt  Avith  the  fresh  sea-wind.  She  knew  that  she  had 
looked  at  her  best  in  a  dress  of  pale  dead-gold,  with  old 
black  Spanish  lace;  and  she  had  only  one  regret, — that 
in  too  soft  a  mood  she  had  allowed  an  English  person, 
a  Lady  Featherleigh,  of  whom  she  did  not  approve,  to 
be  presented  to  her. 

She  was  habitually  the  one  desire  and  the  one  despair 
of  all  her  countrywomen. 

Except  so  far  as  her  physical  courage,  her  skill  in 
riding,  and  her  beautiful  complexion,  which  no  cold 
could  redden,  and  no  heat  could  change,  might  be 
counted  as  national  characteristics,  the  Lady  Hilda  was 
a  very  un-English  Englishwoman  in  everything. 

Indeed,  your  true  elegante  is  raised  high  above  all 
such  small  things  as  nationalities;  she  floats  f^erenely 


IX  A    WINTER    CITV.  83 

in  an  atmosphere  far  too  elevated  to  be  colored  by 
country, — a  neutral  ground  on  which  the  'ciiders  of 
every  civilized  land  meet  far  away  from  all  ordinary 
mortality. 

In  Floralia  she  found  a  few  such  choice  spirits  accus  • 
tomed  to  breathe  the  same  ether  as  herself,  and  with 
those  she  lived,  carefully  avoiding  the  Penal  Settle- 
ment, as  she  continued  to  call  the  cosmopolitan  so- 
ciety which  was  outside  the  zone  of  her  own  supreme 
fashion. 

She  saw  it,  indeed,  in  ball-rooms  and  morning  recep- 
tions; it  sighed  humbly  after  her,  pined  for  her  notice, 
and  would  have  been  happy  if  she  would  but  even 
have  recompensed  it  by  an  insolence ;  but  she  merely 
ignored  its  existence,  and  always  looked  over  its  head 
innocently  and  cruelly  with  that  divine  serenity  of  in- 
difference and  disdain  with  which  Nature  had  so  liber- 
ally endowed  her. 

"Why  should  I  know  them?  They  wouldn't  please 
me,"  she  would  say  to  those  who  ventured  to  remon- 
strate ;  and  the  answer  was  unanswerable. 

"  I  can't  think  how  you  manage,  Hilda,  to  keep  so 
clear  of  people,"  said  Madame  Mila,  enviously.  "Now, 
J  get  inundated  with  hosts  of  the  horridest " 

"  Because  you  cheapen  yourself,"  said  Lady  Hildti, 
very  coolly. 

"  I  never  could  keep  people  off  me,"  pursued  the 
Coratesse.  "  When  Spiridion  had  the  Embassy  in 
London,  it  was  just  the  same;  I  was  inundated!  It's 
good  nature,  I  suppose.  Certainly  you  haven't  got  too 
much  of  thrd.''^ 

Lady  Hilda  smiled ;    she  thought  of  those  six   or 


84  IN  A   WINTER   CITY. 

eight  thousands  which  had  gone  for  Madame  ISlila'a 
losses  at  play. 

"  Good  nature  is  a  very  indifferent  sort  of  quality," 
she  answered.  "  It  is  compounded  of  weakness,  lazi- 
ness, and  vulgarity.  Generally  speaking,  it  is  only  a 
desire  for  popularity ;  and  there  is  nothing  more  vulgar 
than  that." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  is  vulgar  at  all,"  said  Madame 
Mila,  with  some  sharpness.  "  I  like  to  think  I  am 
popular ;  to  see  a  mob  look  after  me ;  to  have  the 
shop-boys  rush  out  to  get  a  glimpse  of  me ;  to  hear 
the  crowd  on  a  race-day  call  out, '  Ain't  she  a  rare  'un  ! 
my  eye,  ain't  she  fit !'  just  as  if  I  were  one  of  the 
mares.  I  often  give  a  crossing-sweeper  a  shilling  in 
London,  just  to  make  him  '  bless  my  pretty  eyes.' 
Why,  even  when  I  go  to  that  beastly  place  of  Spiridion's 
in  Russia,  I  make  the  hideous  serfs  in  love  with  me ; 
it  puts  one  on  good  terms  with  oneself.  I  often  think 
when  the  people  in  the  streets  don't  turn  after  me  as  I 
go — then  I  shall  know  that  I'm  old  !" 

Lady  Hilda's  eyebrows  expressed  unutterable  con- 
tem])t ;  these  were  sentiments  to  her  entirely  incompre- 
hensible. 

"  How  very  agreeable ! — to  make  the  streets  the 
barometer  of  one's  looks, — *  fair  or  foul' !  So  you  live 
in  apprehension  of  a  railway  porter's  indifference,  and 
only  approve  of  yourself  if  a  racing  tout  smiles  !  My 
dear  Mila,  I  never  did  believe  you  would  have  gone 
lower  in  the  scale  of  human  adorers  than  your  Gom- 
ineux  and  Poisseux." 

"  .,^t  all  events,  I  am  not  so  vain  as  you  are,  Hilda," 
retorted    the   Conitesse.      ^^You  approve  of  yourself 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  85 

eternally,  whether  all  the  world  hates  you  or  not.  I 
remember  Charlie  Barrington  saying  of  you  once,  '  I 
wonder  why  that  woman  keeps  straight.  Why  shoui.l 
she?  She  don't  care  a  hang  what  anybody  says  of 
her.'" 

"  How  discerning  of  Lord  Barrington  !  If  people 
only  'keep  straight'  for  the  sake  of  what  other  people 
say  of  them,  I  think  they  may  just  as  well  '  go  off  the 
rails'  in  any  manner  they  like.  Certainly,  what  I  chose 
to  do,  I  should  do,  without  reference  to  the  approbation 
of  the  mob, — either  of  the  streets  or  of  the  drawing- 
rooms." 

"  Exactly  what  Barrington  said,"  returned  Madame 
Mila ;  "  but  then  why  do  you — I  mean,  why  don't  you 
— amuse  yourself?" 

The  Lady  Hilda  laughed. 

"My  dear,  the  Gommeux  and  the  Poisseux  would 
not  amuse  me.  I  am  not  so  happily  constituted  as  you 
are." 

Madame  Mila  colored. 

"  That's  all  very  fine  talk,  but  you  know  it   isn 
natural " 

"To  live  decently? — no,  I  suppose  it  is  not  nowa- 
days. Perhaps  it  never  was.  But,  my  dear  Mila,  you 
needn't  be  too  disquieted  about  me.  If  it  make  you 
any  more  comfortable  as  to  my  sanity,  I  can  assure  you 
it  is  not  virtue;  no  one  knows  such  a  word ;  it  is  only 
indifference." 

"  You  are  very  queer,  Hilda,"  said  Madame  Mila, 
impatiently :  "  all  I  know  is,  I  should  like  to  see  you 
in  love,  and  see  what  you'd  say  then." 

The  Lady  Hilda,  wlio  was  never  more  moved  by  her 

8 


8C  /-V   A    WINTER    CITY. 

feather-headed  cousin's  words  than  a  rock  by  a  butter- 
fly, felt  a  sudden  warmth  on  her  face, — perhaps  of 
anger. 

"  In  love !"  she  echoed,  with  less  languor  and  more 
of  impetuosity  than  she  had  ever  displayed;  "are  you 
ever  in  love,  any  of  you,  ever?  You  have  senses 
and  vanity  and  an  inordinate  fear  of  not  being  in  the 
fashion  ;  and  so  you  take  your  lovers  as  you  drink  your 
stimulants  and  wear  your  wigs  and  tie  your  skirts  back, 
—because  everybody  else  does  it,  and  not  to  do  it  is  to 
be  odd,  or  prudish,  or  something  you  would  hate  to 
be  called.  Love!  it  is  an  unknown  thing  to  you  all. 
You  have  a  sort  of  .miserable  hectic  passion,  perhaps, 
that  is  a  drug  you  take  as  you  take  chlorodyne, — just 
to  excite  you  and  make  your  jaded  nerves  a  little  alive 
again, — and  yet  you  are  such  cowards  that  you  have 
not  even  the  courage  of  passion,  but  label  your  drug 
Friendship,  and  beg  Society  to  observe  that  you  only 
keep  it  for  family  uses,  like  arnica  or  like  glycerine. 
You  want  notoriety;  you  want  to  indulge  your  ftmcies, 
and  yet  keep  your  place  in  the  world.  You  like  to 
drag  a  young  man  about  by  a  chain,  as  if  he  were  the 
dancing  monkey  that  you  depended  upon  for  subsist- 
ence. You  like  other  women  to  see  that  you  are  not 
too  passee  to  be  every  whit  as  improper  as  if  you  were 
twenty.  You  like  to  advertise  your  successes  as  it 
were  with  drum  and  trumpet,  because  if  you  did  not, 
people  might  begin  to  doubt  that  you  had  any.  You 
like  all  that,  and  you  like  to  feel  there  is  nothing  you 
do  not  know  and  no  length  you  have  not  gone,  and 
so  you  ring  all  the  changes  on  all  the  varieties  of  in- 
trigue and  sensuality,  and  go  over  the  gamut  of  sickly 


IN  A   WINTER    CITV.  87 

sentiment  and  nauseous  license  as  an  orchestra  tunes  its 
strings  up  every  night !  Tliat  is  what  all  you  people 
call  love.  I  am  content  enough  to  have  no  knowledge 
of  it " 

"Good  gracious,  Hilda!"  said  Madame  Mila,  with 
wide-open  eyes  of  absolute  amazement,  "you  talk  as  if 
you  were  one  of  the  angry  husbands  in  a  comedy  of 
Feuillet  or  Dumas!  I  don't  think  you  know  anything 
about  it  at  all;  how  should  you?  You  only  admire 
yourself,  and  like  art  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  and 
are  as  cold  as  ice  to  everybody.  'A  la  place  du  coeur, 
vous  n'avez  qu'un  caillou ;'  I've  read  that  somewhere." 

"'Elle  n'a  qu'un  ecusson,'"  corrected  Lady  Hilda, 
her  serenity  returning.  "If  Hugo  had  known  much 
about  women,  he  would  have  said,  'qu'un  chiffon;'  but 
perhaps  a  dissyllable  wouldn't  have  scanned " 

"You  never  will  convince  me,"  continued  Madame 
de  Caviare,  "  that  you  would  not  be  a  happier  woman 
if  you  had  what  you  call  senses  and  the  rest  of  it. 
One  can't  live  without  sensations  and  emotions  of 
some  sort.  You  never  feel  any  except  before  a  bit  of 
Kronenthal  china  or  a  triptych  of  some  old  fogy  of 
a  painter.  You  do  care  awfully  about  your  horses, 
to  be  sure;  but  then,  as  you  don't  bet  on  anything,  I 
don't  see  what  excitement  you  can  get  out  of  them. 
You  won't  play, — which  is  the  best  thing  to  take  to  of 
all,  because  it  will  last;  the  older  they  grow  the  wilder 
women  get  about  it;  look  at  the  Grand  Duchesse 
Seraphine, — over  eighty, — as  keen  as  a  ferret  over  her 
winnintrs,  and  as  fierce  as  a  tom-cat  over  her  losses. 
Now,  that  is  a  thing  that  can't  hurt  any  one,  let  you 
say  wliat  you  like    everybody  plays, — why  won't  you? 


88  AV  A    WINTER    CITV. 

If  you  lost  half  your  income  in  one  night,  it  wouldn't 
ruin  you;  and  you  have  no  idea  how  delicious  it  is  to 
get  dizzy  over  the  cards;  you  know  one  bets  even  at 

pok(ir  to  any  amount " 

"  Thanks ;  it  won't  tempt  me,"  answered  Lady  Hilda. 
'  ]  have  played  at  Baden,  to  see  if  it  would  amuse  me, 
and  it  didn't  amuse  me  in  the  least, — no  more  than  M. 
des  Gommeux  does !  My  dearest  Mila,  I  am  sure  that 
you  people  who  do  excite  yourselves  over  baccarat  and 
poker,  and  can  feel  really  flattered  at  having  a  Maurice 
always  in  attendance,  and  can  divert  yourselves  with 
oyster  suppers  and  masked  balls  and  cotillon  riots,  are 
the  happy  women  of  this  world, — that  I  quite  grant 
you :  oysters  and  Maurices  and  cotillon  and  poker  are 

so  very  easy  to  be  got " 

"  And  men  like  women  who  like  them  ! " 
"  That  I  grant  too ;  poker  and  cotillons  don't  exact 
any  very  fine  manners,  and  men  nowadays  always  like 
to  be,  metaphorically,  in  their  smoking-coats.  Only, 
you  see,  we  are  not  always  all  constituted  of  the  same 
fortunate  disposition :  poker  and  cotillons  only  bore 
me.  You  should  think  it  my  misfortune,  not  my  fault. 
I  am  sure  it  must  be  charming  to  drink  a  quantity  of 
champagne,  and  whirl  round  like  a  South-Sea  islander, 
and  play  pranks  that  pass  in  a  palace  though  the  police 
\vould  interfere  in  a  dancing-garden,  and  be  found  by 
the  sun  drinking  soup  at  a  supper-table;  I  am  sure 
it  must  be  quite  delightful.  Only,  you  see,  it  doesn't 
amuse  me, — no  more  than  scrambling  among  a  pack 
of  cards  flung  on  their  faces,  which  you  say  is  delight- 
ful too,  or  keeping  a  IVIaurice  in  your  pocket,  like  youi 
cigar-case  and  your  handkerchief,  which  you  say  is  most 


7.Y  A    WINTER    CITY.  89 

delightful  of  all.  But  good-by,  my  clear;  we  shall 
quarrel  if  we  talk  much  longer  like  this ;  and  we  must 
not  quarrel  till  to-morrow  morning,  because  your  Dis- 
simulee  dress  will  look  nothing  without  my  xiustrasienne 
one.  What  time  shall  I  call  for  you  ?  Make  it  as  lato 
as  you  can.     I  shall  only  just  show  myself." 

"  Three  o'clock,  then, — that  is  quite  early  enough," 
muttered  Madame  Mila,  somewhat  sulkily ;  but  she  had 
teased  and  prayed  her  cousin  into  accompanying  her, 
in  Louis  Seize  costumes  most  carefully  compiled  by 
Worth  from  engravings  and  pictures  of  the  period, 
to  the  Trasimene  costume  ball,  and  would  not  fall  out 
with  her  just  on  the  eve  of  it,  because  she  knew  their 
entrance  would  be  the  effect  of  the  night. 

"  Say  half-past,"  answered  the  Lady  Hilda,  as  she 
closed  the  door  and  went  into  her  own  rooms  on  the 
opi>osite  side  of  the  staircase. 

"  I  really  begin  to  think  she  is  jealous  of  INfaurice 
and  in  love  with  him,"  thought  INIadame  Mila,  in  whose 
eyes  Maurice  was  irresistible,  though,  Avith  the  peculiar 
opticism  of  ladies  in  her  position,  she  was  perfectly  cer- 
tain that  he  was  adamant  also  to  all  save  herself.  And 
the  idea  of  her  fastidious  cousin's  hopeless  passion  so 
tickled  her  fancy  that  she  laughed  herself  into  a  good 
humor  as  her  maids  disrobed  her;  and  she  curled  her- 
self up  in  her  bed  to  get  a  good  night's  sleep  out  bef(»re 
donning  the  Dissimulee  costume  for  the  Trasimene  oall, 
so  that  she  should  go  at  half-past  three  "as  fresh  as 
paint,"  in  the  most  literal  sense  of  the  word,  to  all 
the  joyous  rioting  of  the  cotillon  which  Maurice  was 
to  lead. 

"  You  shine  upon  us  late,  madamc,"  said  Delia  Rocca, 

8* 


90  ly  A    WINTER    CITY. 

advancing  to  meet  Lady  Hilda,  when  they  reached,  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  vast  and  lofty  rooms 
glittering  with  fancy  dresses. 

"  I  only  came  at  all  to  please  Mi  la,  and  she  only 
comes  for  the  cotillon,"  she  answered  him ;  and  she 
thought  how  well  he  looked  as  she  glanced  at  him. 
He  wore  a  white  Louis  Treize  mousquetaire  dress,  and 
he  had  the  collar  of  the  Golden  Fleece  about  his  throat, 
for,  among  his  many  useless  titles  and  barren  dignities, 
he  was,  like  many  an  Italian  noble,  also  a  grandee  of 
Spain. 

"  You  do  not  dance,  madarae?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  seldom,"  she  answered,  as  she  accepted  his 
arm  to  move  throue-h  the  rooms.  "  When  mediaeval 
dresses  came  in,  dancing  should  have  been  banished. 
\yho  could  dance  well  in  a  long  close-clinging  robe 
tightly  tied  back  and  heavy  with  gold  tliread  and  bul- 
lion fringes?  They  should  revive  the  minuet:  we 
might  go  through  that  without  being  ridiculous.  But 
if  they  will  have  the  cotillon  instead,  they  should  dress 
like  the  girls  in  Offenbach's  pieces,  as  many  of  them 
happen  to  be  to-night.  I  do  not  object  to  a  mixture 
of  epochs  in  furniture,  but  romping  in  a  Renaissance 
skirt ! — that  is  really  almost  blasphemy  enough  to  raise 
the  ghost  of  Titian  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  Madama  Pampinet  and  the  Fiammina 
must  have  roiuped  sometimes,"  said  Delia  Rocca,  with 
a  smile.  "But  then  you  will  say  the  Decadence  had 
already  cast  its  shadow  before  it." 

"  Yes ;  but  there  never  was  an  age  so  vulgar  as  our 
own,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda.  "That  I  am  positive  of; 
> — look,  even  peasants  are  vulgar  now :  they  wear  tall 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  91 

hats  and  tawdry  bonnets  on  Sundays ;  and,  as  for  our 
society,  it  is  '  rowdy :'  there  is  no  other  word  for  it,  if 
you  uudei'stand  what  that  means." 

"Canaille?" 

"Yes,  canaille.  M.  de  St.  Louis  says  the  'femme 
comme  il  faut'  of  his  youth  is  extinct  as  the  dodo: 
language  is  slang,  society  is  a  mob,  dress  is  display, 
amusement  is  riot,  people  are  let  into  society  who  have 
no  other  claim  to  be  there  but  money  and  impudence, 
and  are  as  ignorant  as  our  maids  and  our  grooms,  and 
more  so.  It  is  all  as  bad  as  it  can  be,  and  I  suppose  it 
will  only  go  on  getting  w^orse.  You  Italians  are  the 
only  people  with  whom  manner  is  not  a  lost  art." 

"  You  do  us  much  honor.  Perhaps  we  too  shall  be 
infected  before  long.  We  are  sending  our  lads  to  pub- 
lic schools  in  your  country  :  they  will  probably  come 
back  unable  to  bow,  ashamed  of  natural  grace,  and 
ambitious  to  enuilate  the  groom  model  in  everything. 
This  is  thouo;ht  an  advanced  education." 

Lady  Hilda  laughed. 

"The  rich  Egyptians  go  to  English  universities,  and 
take  back  to  the  Nile  a  passion  for  rat-hunting  and 
brandy,  and  the  most  hideous  hats  and  coats  in  the 
universe,  and  then  think  they  have  improved  on  the 
age  of  the  Pharaohs.  I  hope  Italy  will  never  be  in- 
fected, but  I'm  afraid  ;  you  have  gas-works,  tramways, 
and  mixed  marriages,  and  your  populace  has  almost 
entirely  abandoned  costume." 

"  And  in  the  cities  we  have  lost  the  instinct  of  good 
taste  in  the  most  fatal  manner.  Perhaps  it  has  died 
out  with  the  old  costumes.  Who  knows?  Dress  is, 
after  all,  the  thermometer  of  taste.    Modern  male  at- 


92  I^'    A    WINTER    CITY. 

tire  is  of  all  others  the  most  frightful,  the  most  gro- 
tesque, the  most  gloomy,  aud,  to  our  climate,  the  most 
unsuitable." 

"  Yes.  Tall  hats  and  tail-coats  appear  to  me  to  be 
like  the  locusts:  wherever  they  spread  they  bear  bar- 
renness in  their  train.  But  the  temper  of  your  people 
will  always  procure  to  you  some  natural  grace,  some 
natural  elegance." 

"Let  us  hope  so;  but  in  all  public  works  our  taste 
already  is  gone.  One  may  say,  without  vanity,  that  in 
full  sense  of  beauty  and  of  proportion  Italy  surpassed 
of  old  all  the  world :  how  is  it,  I  often  ask  myself, 
that  we  have  lost  all  this?  Here  in  Floralia  if  we 
require  gas-works  we  erect  their  chimneys  on  the  very 
l)ank  of  our  river,  ruining  one  of  the  loveliest  views 
in  the  world,  and  one  that  has  been  a  tradition  of 
beauty  for  ages.  If  it  be  deemed  necessary  to  break 
down  and  widen  our  picturesque  old  bridges,  we  render 
them  hideous  as  any  railway  road,  by  hedging  them 
with  frightful  monotonous  parapets  of  cast  iron,  the 
heaviest,  most  soulless,  most  hateful  thing  that  is  man- 
ufactured. Do  we  make  a  fine  hill-drive,  costing  us 
enormously,  when  we  have  no  money  to  pay  for  it,  we 
make  one,  indeed,  as  fine  as  any  in  Europe ;  and,  hav- 
ing made  it,  then  we  ruin  it  by  planting  at  every  step 
cafes,  and  guinguettes,  and  guard-houses,  and  every  arti- 
ficial abomination  and  vulgarity  in  stucco  and  brick- 
M'ork  that  can  render  its  noble  scenerv  ridiculous.  Do 
we  deem  it  advisable,  for  sanitary  or  other  purposes, 
to  turn  the  people  out  of  the  ancient  market  where 
they  keep  their  stalls  under  the  old  palace-walls  hap- 
pily enough,  summer  and  winter,  like  so  many  Dutch 


IX  Ji    WINTER    CITY.  93 

pictures,  we  build  a  cage  of  iron  and  glass  like  an 
enormous  cucumber-frame,  inexpressibly  hideous,  and 
equally  incommodious,  and  only  adapted  to  grill  the 
people  in  June  and  turn  them  to  ice  in  January.  What 
is  the  reason  ?  We  have  liberal  givers,  such  as  your 
countryman  Sloane,  such  as  my  countryman  Galliera, 
yet  what  single  modern  thing  worth  producing  can  we 
show  ?  We  have  destroyed  much  that  will  be  as  irrep- 
arable a  loss  to  future  generations  as  the  art  destroyed 
in  the  great  siege  is  to  us.  But  we  have  produced  no- 
thing save  deformity.  Perhaps,  indeed,  we  might  not 
have  any  second  Michael  Angelo  to  answer  if  we  called 
on  him  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  we  must  have  architects 
capable  of  devising  something  in  carven  stone  to  edge 
a  bridge ;  w^e  must  have  artists  who,  were  they  con- 
sulted, would  say,  '  Do  not  insult  a  sublime  panorama 
of  the  most  poetic  and  celebrated  valley  in  the  world 
by  putting  into  the  foreground  a  square  guards'  box, 
a  stucco  drinking-house,  and  the  gilded  lamps  of  a 
dancing-garden.'  We  must  have  men  capable  of  so 
much  as  that:  yet  they  are  either  never  employed  or 
never  listened  to ;  the  truth,  I  fear,  is  that  a  public 
work  nowadays  with  us  is  like  a  plant  being  carried  to 
be  planted  in  a  city  square,  of  which  every  one  who 
passes  it  plucks  off  a  leaf:  by  the  time  it  reaches  its 
destination  the  plant  is  leafless.  The  public  work  is  the 
plant,  and  the  money  to  be  got  from  it  is  the  foliage ; 
provided  each  one  plucks  as  much  foliage  as  he  can,  no 
one  cares  in  what  state  the  plant  reaches  the  piazza." 

Lady  Hilda  looked  at  him  as  he  spoke  with  an 
eloquence  and  earnestness  which  absorbed  him  for  the 
moment,  so  that  he  forgot   that  he  was  talking  to  a 


04  J^  ^    WINTER    CITY. 

woman,  and  a  Avoman  whose  whole  life  was  one  o' 
trifling;,  of  languor,  and  of  extravagance. 

"  All  that  is  very  true,"  she  said,  with  some  hesi- 
tation ;  "  but  M'hy  then  do  you  hold  yourself  aloof? 
— why  do  you  do  nothing  to  change  this  state  of 
public  things?  You  see  the  evil,  but  you  prescribe 
no  remedy." 

"  The  only  remedy  will  be  Time,"  he  answered  her. 
"  Corruption  has  eaten  too  deeply  into  the  heart  of  this 
nation  to  be  easily  eradicated.  The  knife  of  war  has 
not  cut  it  out;  we  can  only  hope  for  what  the  medi- 
cines of  education  and  of  open  discussion  may  do; 
the  greatest  danger  lies  in  the  inertia  of  the  people ; 
they  are  angry  often,  but  they  do  not  move " 

"  Neither  do  you  move,  though  you  are  angry." 

He  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"  If  I  were  a  rich  man  I  would  do  so.  Poor  as  I 
am,  I  could  not  embrace  public  life  Avithout  seeming 
to  seek  my  own  private  ends  from  office.  A  man 
without  wealth  has  no  influence,  and  his  motives  will 
always  be  suspected, — at  least  here." 

"  But  one  should  be  above  suspicion " 

"  Were  one  certain  to  do  good, — yes." 

"  But  why  should  you  despair  ?  You  have  a  country 
of  boundless  resources,  a  people  affectionate,  impression- 
able, infinitely  engaging,  and  much  more  intelligent 
naturally  than  any  other  populace,  a  soil  that  scarce 
needs  touching  to  yield  the  richest  abundance,  and  in 
nearly  every  small  town  or  obscure  city  some  legacy 
of  art  or  architecture,  such  as  no  other  land  can 
Bhoxv " 

"  Despair !    God  forbid    that  I  should    despair.      I 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  95 

think  there  is  infinite  hope;  but  I  cannot  disguise  from 
myself  that  there  are  infinite  dangers  also.  An  unedu- 
cated peasantry  has  had  its  religion  torn  away  from  it, 
and  has  no  other  moral  landmark  set  to  cling  to;  old 
ways  and  old  venerations  are  kicked  away,  and  nothing 
substituted  ;  public  business  means  almost  universally 
public  pillage;  the  new  text  placed  before  the  regener- 
ated nation  is,  '  Make  money,  honestly  if  you  can — but 
make  money  !'  haste,  avarice,  accumulation,  cunning, 
neglect  of  all  loveliness,  desecration  of  all  ancientness, 
— these,  the  modern  curses  which  accompany  *  progress,' 
are  set  before  a  scarcely  awakened  people  as  the  proper 
objects  and  idols  of  their  efforts.  We,  who  are  chiefly 
to  be  moved  by  our  affections  and  our  imaginations,  are 
only  bidden  to  be  henceforth  inspired  by  a  joyless  pros- 
perity and  a  loveless  materialism.  We,  the  heirs  of 
the  godhead  of  the  Arts,  are  only  counseled  to  emulate 
the  mechanical  inventions  and  the  unscrupulous  com- 
merce of  the  American  genius,  and  are  ordered  to  learn 
to  blush  with  shame  because  our  ancient  cities,  sacred 
with  the  ashes  of  heroes,  are  not  spurious  brand-new 
lath-and-plaster  human  ant-hills  of  the  growth  of  yes- 
terday ! Forgive  me,  madame,"  he  said,  interrupt- 
ing himself,  with  a  little  laugh;  "I  forget  that  I  am 
tedious  to  you.  With  the  taxes  at  fifty-two  per  cent., 
a  poor  land-owner  like  myself  may  incline  to  think  that 
all  is  not  as  well  as  it  should  be." 

'*  You  interest  me,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  and  her 
eyes  dwelt  on  him  with  a  grave,  musing  regard  that 
they  had  till  then  given  to  no  man.  "  And  on  your 
own  lands,  with  your  own  people, — how  is  it  there?" 

His  face  brightened. 


96  ^^V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

"  My  jieople  love  me,"  he  said,  softly.  "  As  for  the 
lands, — when  one  is  poor,  one  cannot  do  much  ;  but 
every  one  is  content  on  them :  that  is  something." 

"  Is  it  not  everything  ?"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  with 
a  little  sigh ;  for  she  herself,  who  could  gratify  her 
every  wish,  had  never  yet  quite  known  what  content 
could  mean.  *'  Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  ball-room  ; 
JMila  will  be  coming  to  know  if  we  have  heard  of 
MacMahon's  death,  that  we  talk  so  seriously." 

She  floated  on  his  arm  to  the  scene  of  tumult,  where, 
being  hemmed  in  by  lookers-on  till  the  pressure  left 
them  scarcely  any  space  to  perform  upon,  the  dancers 
were  going  through  a  quadrille  with  exceeding  viva- 
city, and  with  strong  reminiscences  in  it  of  some  steps 
of  the  cancan,  Madame  Mila  and  Lady  Featherleigh 
particularly  distinguishing  themselves  by  their  imita- 
tions of  the  Chimpanzee  dance,  as  performed  in  the  last 
winter's  operetta  of  Ching-aring-aring-ching. 

They  were  of  course  being  watched  and  applauded 
very  loudly  by  the  ring  of  spectators  as  if  they  were 
really  the  actors  in  the  Ching-aring-aring-ching,  which 
aiForded  them  the  liveliest  pleasure  possible,  great  ladies 
being  never  so  happy  nowadays  as  when  they  are  quite 
sure  that  they  might  really  be  taken  for  comedians  or 
courtesans. 

It  was  hard  upon  Madame  Mila  that  just  as  she  had 
jumped  so  high  that  La  Petite  Boulette  herself  could 
scarcely  have  jumped  higher,  the  lookers-on  turned  their 
heads  to  see  the  Lady  Hilda  in  the  door- way  on  the  arm 
of  her  white  mousquetaire.  Lady  Hilda  was  beyond 
all  dispute  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  the  rooms,  she 
threw  them  all    into  the  shade   as  a  crown  diamond 


7.Y  A    WINTER    CITV.  97 

throws  stars  of  strass ;  and  many  of  the  men  were  so 
dazzled  by  her  appearance  there  that  they  actually  lost 
the  sight  of  Madame  Mila's  rose-colored  stockings 
twinkling  in  the  air. 

"  Paolo  fait  bonne  fortune,"  they  said  to  one  another, 
and  began  to  make  wagers  that  she  would  marry  him, 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  that  she  was  only  playing  with 
him :  opinion  varied,  and  bets  ran  high. 

Society  bets  on  everything;  peace  and  love,  and 
lienor  and  happiness,  are  only  "staying"  horses  or 
"  non-stayers,"  on  M'hose  running  the  money  is  piled. 
It  is  fortunate  indeed  and  rare  when  the  betting  is 
"  honest,"  and  if  the  drinking-waters  of  i)eace  be  not 
poisoned  on  purpose,  or  the  smooth  turf  of  a  favorite's 
career  be  not  sprinkled  with  glass,  by  those  who  have 
laid  the  odds  heavily  against  it.  So  that  they  land 
their  bets,  what  do  they  care  whether  or  not  the  sub- 
ject of  their  speculations  be  lamed  for  life  and  destined 
to  drag  out  its  weary  days  between  the  cab-shafts  till 
the  end  comes  in  the  knacker's  yard  ? 

As  for  the  Lady  Hilda,  she  was  so  used  to  be  the 
observed  of  all  observers  wherever  she  went,  that  she 
never  heeded  who  looked  at  her,  and  never  troubled 
herself  what  anybody  might  say.  She  walked  about 
with  Delia  Rocca,  talked  with  him,  and  let  him  sit  by 
her  in  little  sheltered  camellia-filled  velvet-hung  nooks, 
because  it  pleased  her,  and  because  he  looked  like  an 
old  Velasquez  picture  in  that  white  Louis  Treize  dress. 
Of  what  anybody  might  think  she  was  absolutely  in- 
different ;  she  was  not  mistress  of  herself  and  of  thirty 
thousand  a  year  to  care  for  the  tittle-tattle  of  a  small 
winter  city. 

£  9  a 


98  AV  A    WIXTKR    C!Ty\ 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  mistress  of  herself, — to 
do  absolutely  as  she  chose, — to  have  no  earthly  creature 
to  consult, — to  go  to  bed  in  Paris  and  wake  up  in  St. 
Petersburg  if  the  fancy  took  her, — to  buy  big  diamonds 
till  she  could  outblaze  Lady  Dudley, — to  buy  thorough- 
bred horses  and  old  pictures  and  costly  porcelains  and 
all  sorts  of  biblots,  ancient  and  curious,  that  might 
please  her  taste, — to  obey  every  caprice  of  the  moment 
and  to  have  no  one  to  be  responsible  to  for  its  indul- 
gence,— to  write  a  check  for  a  large  amount  if  she  saw 
any  great  distress  that  was  painful  to  look  upon, — to 
adorn  her  various  houses  with  all  that  elegance  of  whim 
and  culture  of  mind  could  gather  together  from  the 
treasures  of  centuries, — to  do  just  as  she  pleased,  in  a 
word,  without  any  one  else  to  ask,  or  any  necessity  to 
ponder  whether  the  expense  were  wise.  It  was  very 
agreeable  to  be  mistress  of  herself;  and  yet 

There  is  a  capitalist  in  Europe  who  is  very  un- 
happy because  all  his  wealth  cannot  purchase  the  world- 
famous  key  of  the  Strozzi  princes. 

Lady  Hilda  was  never  unhappy,  but  she  was  not 
quite  content. 

Out  of  the  very  abundance  of  her  life  she  was  weary, 
and  there  was  a  certain  coldness  in  it  all;  it  was  too 
like  one  of  her  own  diamonds. 

She  sighed  a  little  to-night  when  her  Avhite  mousque- 
taire  had  led  her  to  her  carriage,  and  she  was  rolling 
across  the  bridge  homeward,  whilst  Madame  Mila's 
gossamer  skirts  were  still  twirling  and  her  rosy  stock- 
ings still  twinkling  in  all  the  intricacies  and  diversions 
with  which  the  Vicomte  Maurice  would  keep  the  cotil- 
lun  going  until  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


JN  A    WINTER    CITV.  99 

In  the  darknass  of  her  carriage,  as  it  went  over  the 
stones  through  the  winding  ill-lit  streets,  she  saw  soft 
amorous  eyes  looking  at  her  under  their  dreamy  lids. 
She  could  not  forget  their  look ;  she  was  haunted  by 
it, — it  had  said  so  much. 

The  tale  it  had  told  was  one  she  had  heard  at 
least  twenty  times  a  year  for  ten  long  years,  and  it 
had  never  moved  her;  it  had  bored  her, — nothing 
more. 

But  now  a  sudden  warmth,  a  strange  emotion,  thrilled 
in  her,  driving  through  the  dark  with  the  pressure  of 
his  hand  still  seeming  to  linger  upon  hers. 

It  was  such  an  old  old  tale  that  his  eyes  had  told, 
and  yet  for  once  it  had  touched  her  somehow,  and  made 
her  heart  quicken,  her  color  rise. 

"  It  is  too  ridiculous !"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  am 
dreaming.     Fancy  my  caring  !" 

And  she  was  angry  with  herself,  and,  when  she 
reached  her  own  rooms,  looked  a  moment  at  her  full 
reflection  in  the  long  mirrors,  diamonds  and  all,  before 
she  rang  for  her  maid  to  come  to  her. 

It  was  a  brilliant  and  beautiful  figure  that  she  saw 
there  in  the  gorgeous  colors  copied  from  a  picture  by 
Watteau  le  Jeune,  and  with  the  great  stones  shining 
above  her  head  and  on  her  breast  like  so  many  little 
dazzling  suns. 

She  had  loved  herself  very  dearly  all  her  life,  lived 
for  herself,  and  in  a  refined  and  lofty  way  had  been 
as  absolutely  self-engrossed  and  amorous  of  her  own 
pleasure  and  her  own  vanities  as  the  greediest  and  cru- 
dest of  ordinary  egotists. 

"Am  I  a  fool?"  she  said,  angrily,  to  her  own  image. 


100  IN  A    \\L\TKR    CITY. 

"It  is  too  absurd!     AVliv  should  he  move  me  more 
than  any  one  of  all  the  others?" 

And  yet  suddenly  all  the  life  which  had  so  well  sat- 
isfied her  seemed  empty, — seemed  cold  and  hard  as  one 
of  her  many  diamonds. 

She  rang  with  haste  and  impatience  for  her  maid, 
and  all  they  did,  from  the  hot  soup  they  brought  to 
the  way  they  untwisted  her  hair,  was  wrong,  and  when 
she  lay  down  in  her  bed  she  could  not  sleep,  and  when 
the  bright  forenoon  came,  full  of  the  sound  of  pealing 
bells  and  gay  street  songs  and  hurrying  feet,  she  fell 
into  feverish  dreams,  and,  waking  later,  did  not  know 
what  ailed  her. 

From  that  time  Delia  Rocca  ceased  to  avoid  the 
Hotel  Murat ;  he  was  received  there  oftener  than  on 
her  "day;"  he  went  about  with  her  on  various  pilgrim- 
ages to  quaint  old  out-of-the-way  nooks  of  forgotten 
art  which  he  could  tell  her  of,  knowing  every  nook  and 
corner  of  his  native  city;  she  almost  always  invited 
him  when  she  had  other  people  to  dine  with  her;  her 
cousin  did  the  same,  and  he  was  usually  included  in  all 
those  manifold  schemes  for  diversion  which,  woman- 
like, Madame  Mila  was  always  setting  on  foot,  think- 
ing with  Didei'ot's  vagabond  that  it  is  something  at 
any  rate  to  have  got  rid  of  Time. 

Sometimes  he  availed  himself  of  those  opportunities 
of  Fortune,  sometimes  he  did  not.  His  conduct  had 
a  variableness  about  it  which  did  more  than  anything 
else  would  have  done  to  arrest  the  attention  of  a  woman 
sated  with  homage  ns  the  Lady  Hilda  had  been  all  her 
days.  She  missed  him  when  he  was  absent;  she  was 
influenced  by  him  when  he  was  present.     Beneath  the 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  101 

softness  of  his  manner  there  was  a  certain  seriousness 
which  had  its  weight  with  lier.  He  made  her  feel 
ashamed  of  many  things. 

Something  in  his  way  of  life  also  attracted  her. 
There  are  a  freedom  and  simplicity  in  all  the  habits  of 
an  Italian  noble  that  are  in  strong  contrast  with  the 
formal  conventionalism  of  the  ways  of  other  men;  there 
is  a  feudal  affectionateness  of  relation  between  him  and 
his  dependants  which  is  not  like  anything  else;  when 
he  knows  anything  of  agriculture,  and  interests  him- 
self personally  in  his  people,  the  result  is  an  existence 
wiiich  makes  the  life  of  the  Paris  flaneurs  and  the  Lon- 
don idlers  look  very  poor  indeed. 

Palestrina  often  saw  its-lord  drive  thither  by  six  in  the 
morning,  walk  over  his  fields,  hear  grievances  and  redress 
them,  mark  out  new  vine-walks  with  his  bailiff,  watch 
his  white  oxen  turn  the  sods  of  the  steep  slopes,  and 
plan  trench-cuttings  to  arrest  the  winter-swollen  brooks, 
long  before  the  men  of  his  degree  in  Paris  or  in  Lon- 
don opened  their  heavy  eyes  to  call  for  their  morning 
taste  of  brandy,  and  awoke  to  the  recollection  of  their 
night's  gaming  losses,  or  their  wagers  on  coming  races. 

The  finest  of  fine  gentlemen,  the  grandest  of  grand 
seigneurs,  in  court  or  drawing-room  or  diplomatic  circle, 
Paolo  della  Rocca,  among  his  own  gray  olive  orchards 
and  the  fragrance  of  his  great  wooden  storehouses,  was 
as  simple  as  Cincinnatus,  laughed  like  a  boy  with  his 
old  steward,  caressed  like  a  woman  the  broad  heads  of 
his  beasts  at  the  plow,  and  sat  under  a  great  mulberry 
to  break  his  bread  at  noonday,  hearkening  to  the  talk  of 
his  peasants  as  though  he  were  one  of  them. 

The  old  Etrurinn  gentleness  and  love  of  the  rural  life 

9* 


102  '^-"^'  ^    \\'iyTF.R    VITV. 

are  still  alive  iu  this  land  ;  may  they  never  perish,  for 
they  are  to  the  nation  as  the  timely  rains  to  the  vine, 
as  the  sweet  strong  sun  to  the  harvest. 

This  simplicity,  this  naturalness,  which  in  the  Italian 
will  often  underlie  the  highest  polish  of  culture  and  of 
reremony,  had  a  curious  fascination  for  a  woman  in 
whose  own  life  there  had  been  no  place  for  simplicity 
and  no  thought  for  nature. 

She  had  been  in  the  bonds  of  the  world  always,  as 
a  child  in  its  sw^addling  bands, — none  the  less  so  be- 
cause she  had  been  one  of  its  leaders  in  those  matters 
of  supreme  fashion  wherein  she  had  reigned  as  a  god- 
dess. Her  life  had  been  altogether  artificial ;  she  had 
always  been  a  great  garden  lily  in  a  hot-house,  she  had 
never  known  what  it  was  to  be  blown  by  a  fresh  breeze 
on  a  sun-swept  moorland  like  a  heather  flower.  The 
hot-house  shelters  from  all  chills  and  is  full  of  perfume, 
but  you  can  see  no  horizon  from  it ;  that  alone  is  the 
joy  of  the  moorland.  Now  and  then,  garden  lily  in  a 
stove-heated  palace  though  she  was,  some  vague  want, 
some  dim  unfulfilled  wish,  had  stirred  in  her;  she 
began  to  think  now  that  it  had  been  for  that  unknown 
horizon. 

''Men  live  too  much  in  herds,  in  crowded  rooms, 
among  stoves  and  gas-jets,"  he  said  to  her  once.  "  There 
are  only  two  atmospheres  that  do  one  morally  any  good, 
— the  open  air  and  the  air  of  the  cloister." 

"  You  mean  that  there  are  only  two  things  that  are 
good, — activity  and  meditation  ?" 

"  I  think  so.  The  fault  of  society  is  that  it  substi- 
tutes, for  those,  stimulants  and  stagnation." 

He  made  her  think  ;  he  influenced  her  more  than 


7.V  A    WINTER    CITY.  103 

she  knew.  Uuder  the  caressing  subserviency  to  her  as 
of  a  courtier,  she  felt  the  power  of  a  man  who  discerned 
life  more  clearly  and  more  wisely  than  herself. 

The  chief  evil  of  society  lies  in  the  enormous  impor- 
tance which  it  gives  to  trifles.  She  began  to  feel  that 
with  all  her  splendor  she  had  been  only  occupied  with 
trifles.  Nature  had  been  a  sealed  book  to  her,  and  she 
began  to  doubt  that  she  had  even  understood  Art. 

"  If  you  can  be  pleased  with  this,"  says  a  great  art- 
critic,  "  this"  being  a  little  fresco  of  St.  Anne,  "  you 
can  see  Floralia.  But  if  not, — by  all  means  amuse  your- 
self there,  if  you  find  it  anuising,  as  long  as  you  like; 
you  can  never  see  it." 

The  test  may  be  a  little  exaggerated,  but  the  general 
meaning  of  his  words  is  correct. 

Cosmopolitan  and  Anglo-American  Floralia,  for  the 
main  part,  do  not  see  the  city  they  come  to  winter  in ; 
see  nothing  of  its  glories,  of  its  sanctities,  of  its  almost 
divinities;  see  only  their  own  friends,  their  own  faces, 
their  own  fans,  flirtations,  and  fallals,  reflected  as  in 
mirrors  all  around  them,  and  filling  up  their  horizon. 

"  A  Dutchman  can  be  just  as  solemnly  and  entirely 
contemplative  of  a  lemon-pip  and  a  cheese-paring  as  an 
Italian  of  the  Virgin  in  glory." 

Cosmopolitan  and  Anglo-American  Floralia  is  in 
love  with  its  lemon-pips,  and  has  no  eyes  for  the  Glory. 
When  it  has  an  eye,  indeed,  it  is  almost  worse,  because 
it  is  bent  then  on  buying  the  Glory  for  its  drawing- 
room  staircase,  or,  worse  yet,  on  selling  it  again  at  a 
profit. 

The  Lady  Hilda,  who  did  not  love  lemon-pijis,  but 
who  yet  had  never  seen  the  Glory  with  that  simplicity^ 


101  I^'  A    WINTER   CITY. 

as  of  a  child's  worship,  which  alone  constitutes  the  true 
sight,  began  to  unlearn  many  of  her  theories,  and  to 
learn  very  mu.-h  in  emotion  and  vision,  as  she  carried 
her  delicate  disdainful  head  into  the  little  dusky  chaj>cls 
and  the  quiet  prayer-worn  chantries  of  Floralia. 

Her  love  of  Art  had,  after  all,  been  a  cold  =he 
began  to  think  a  poor,  passion.  She  had  studied  the 
philosophy  of  Art,  had  been  learned  in  the  contempla- 
tive and  the  dramatic  schools,  had  known  the  signs 
manual  of  this  epoch  and  the  other,  had  discoursed 
learnedly  of  Lombard  and  Byzantine,  of  objective  and 
subjective,  of  archaic  and  naturalistic ;  but  all  the 
while  it  had  been  not  very  much  more  than  a  scholarly 
jargon,  a  graceful  pedantry,  which  had  seemed  to  make 
her  doubly  scornful  of  those  more  ignorant.  Art  is  a 
fashion  in  some  circles,  as  religion  is  in  some,  and  license 
is  in  others,  and  Art  had  been  scarcely  deeper  than  a 
fashion  with  her,  or  cared  for  more  deeply  than  as  a 
superior  kind  of  furniture. 

But  here,  in  this  the  sweetest,  noblest,  most  hallowed 
city  of  the  world,  which  has  been  so  full  of  genius  iii 
other  times  that  the  fragrance  thereof  remains,  as  it 
were,  upon  the  very  stones,  like  that  Persian  attar,  to 
make  one  ounce  of  which  a  hundred  thousand  roses  die, 
here  something  nuich  deeper  yet  much  simpler  came 
upon  her. 

Her  theories  melted  away  into  pure  reverence,  her 
philosophies  faded  into  tenderness,  new  revelations  of 
human  life  came  to  her,  before  those  spiritual  imagin- 
ings of  men  to  whom  the  blue  sky  had  seemed  full  of 
angels,  and  the  watches  of  the  night  been  stirred  by 
the  voice  of  God :  before  those  old  panels  and  old  fres- 


AV  A    WISTER    CITY.  105 

coes,  often  so  simple,  often  so  pathetic,  always  so  sin- 
cere in  faith  and  in  work,  she  grew  lierself  simpler 
and  of  more  humility,  and  learned  that  Art  is  a  religion 
for  whose  right  understanding  one  must  needs  become 
"even  as  a  little  child." 

She  had  been  in  great  art  cities  before, — in  the  home 
of  Tintoretto  and  the  Veronese,  in  the  asylum  of  the  Ma- 
donna de  San  Sisto,  in  the  stone  wilderness  of  Ludwig 
where  the  Faun  sleeps  in  exile,  in  mighty  Rome  itself; 
but  she  had  not  felt  as  she  felt  now.  She  had  been 
full  of  appreciation  of  their  art,  but  they  had  left  her 
as  they  had  found  her,  cold,  vain,  self-engrossed,  en- 
tirely shut  in  a  holy  of  holies  of  culture  and  of  criti- 
cism ;  she  had  covered  her  Cavalcaselle  with  pencil- 
notes,  and  had  glanced  from  a  ])redella  or  a  pieta  to  the 
pages  of  her  Rusk  in  with  a  serene  smile  of  doubt. 

But  here  and  now  Art  ceased  to  be  science,  and  be- 
came emotion  in  her.  Why  was  it?  She  did  not  care 
to  ask  herself. 

Only  all  her  old  philosophies  seemed  falling  about 
her  like  shed  leaves,  and  her  old  self  seemed  to  her  but 
a  purposeless,  frivolous,  chilly  creature.  The  real  rea- 
son she  would  not  face,  and  indeed  as  yet  was  not  con- 
scious of ;  the  reason  that  love  had  entered  into  her,  and 
that  love,  if  it  be  worth  the  name,  has  always  two 
handmaidens,  swift  sympathy,  and  sad  humility,  keep- 
ing step  together. 


]06  ^-^'  ^    WINTER    CITY. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Foreign  Floralia,  i.e.,  that  portion  of  Floralia  wliicli 
is  not  indigenous  to  the  soil,  but  has  only  flown  south 
with  the  swallows,  is  remarkable  for  a  really  godlike 
consciousness:  it  knows  everything  about   everybody, 
and  all  things,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  that  ever  did, 
could,  would,  should,  cannot,  will  not,  or  never  shall 
happen  ;   and   is  aware  of  all  things   that  have  ever 
taken   place,  and  of  a  great  many  things  that  never 
have  done  so.     It  is  much  better  informed  about  you 
than  you  are  yourself;  knows  your  morals  better  than 
your  confessor,  your  constitution  better  than  your  doc- 
tor, your  income  better  than  your  banker,  and  the  day 
you  were  born  on  better  than  your  mother.     It  is  om- 
niscient and  omnipresent,  microscopic  and  telescopic  j 
it  is  a  court-edition  of  Scotland  Yard,  and  a  pocket- 
edition  of  the  Cabinet  Noir ;  it  speeds  as  many  inter- 
rogations as  a  telegraph-wire,  and  has  as  many  mysteries 
as  the  agony  column  of  a  newspaper :  only  it  always 
answers  its  own  questions,  and  has  all  the  keys  to  its 
own  mysteries,  and,  what  is  still  more  comforting,  always 
knows  everything  for  "  certain." 

It  knows  that  you  starve  your  servants  because  you 
are  poor  and  like  to  save  on  the  butcher  and  baker ;  it 
knows  that  you  overpay  them  because  you  are  rich  and 
want  them  to  keep  your  secrets ;  it  knows  that  your 
great-grandmother's  second  cousin  was  hanged  for  for- 
gery at  Tyburn  ;  it  knows  that  your  silk  stockings  have 


7.V  A    ULXTER    CI  TV.  107 

cotton  tops  to  tlieni ;  it  knows  that  your  heirloom  gui- 
)iiiie  is  imitation,  made  the  other  day  at  Rapallo;  it 
l-^nows  tiiat  your  Embassy  only  receives  you  because — 
hush  ! — a  great  personage — ah,  so  very  shocking  ;  it 
knows  that  you  had  green  ])eas  six  weeks  before  any- 
body else;  it  knows  that  you  have  had  four  dinner- 
parties this  week  and  are  living  on  your  capital ;  it 
knows  that  when  you  were  in  Rome  you  only  went  to 
the  Quirinal  Wednesdays,  because  [whisper,  whisper, 
whisper) — oh,  indeed  it  is  perfectly  true, — had  it  on 
the  best  authority, — dreadful,  incredible,  but  perfectly 
true. 

In  point  of  fact,  there  is  nothing  it  does  not  know. 

Except,  to  be  sure,  it  never  knows  that  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar  is  not  virtuous,  or  that  Lady  Messalina  is  not 
everything  slie  should  be;  this  it  never  knows  and 
never  admits,  because  if  it  did  it  could  not  very  well 
drink  the  Potiphar  champagne,  and  might  lose  for  its 
daughters  the  Messalina  balls.  Indeed,  its  perpetual 
loquacity,  which  is  "  as  the  waters  come  down  at  Lo- 
dore,"  has  most  solemn  and  impressive  interludes  of 
refreshing  dumbness  and  deafness  when  any  incautious 
Bpeaker,  not  trained  to  its  ways,  hints  that  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar lives  in  a  queer  manner,  or  that  Lady  Messalina 
would  be  out  of  society  anywhere  else ;  then  indeed  does 
Anglo-Saxon  Floralia  draw  itself  up  with  an  injured 
dignity,  and  rebuke  you  with  the  murmur  of — Chris- 
tian charity. 

In  other  respects,  however,  it  has  the  soul  of  Samuel 
Pejiys  multijilied  by  five  thousand.  It  watched  the  pro- 
gress of  intimacy  between  Lady  Hilda  and  the  ruined 
lord  of  Palcstrina,  and  knew  "  all  about  it," — knew  a 


108  I^^  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

vast  (leal  more  than  the  persons  concerned,  of  course; 
it,  always  does,  or  what  would  be  the  use  of  talking;? 

Gossiping  over  its  bonbons  and  tea  in  the  many 
pleasant  houses  in  which  the  south-wintering  northern 
swallows  nestle,  it  knew  that  he  and  she  had  been  in 
love  years  and  years  before ;  the  family  would  not  let 
her  marry  him  because  he  was  so  poor ;  it  was  tlie  dis- 
covery of  his  letters  to  her  that  had  killed  poor  old 
rich  Vararlberg ;  he  and  her  brother  had  fought  in  the 
Bois, — indeed  ! — oh,  yes,  it  was  hushed  up  at  the  time, 
but  it  was  quite  true,  and  he  had  shot  her  brother  in 
the  shoulder;  the  surgeon  who  had  attended  the 
wounded  man  had  told  the  physician  who  had  attended 
the  sister-in-law  of  the  cousin  of  the  most  intimate 
friend  of  the  lady  who  had  vouched  for  this.  There 
could  not  be  better  authority.  But  there  never  was 
anything  against  her? — oh,  dear  me,  no,  never  any- 
thing ;  everybody  said  this  very  warmly,  because 
everybody  had  been,  hoped  to  be,  or  at  least  would 
not  despair  of  being,  introduced  to  her  and  asked  to 
dinner.  It  was  very  romantic,  really  most  interesting; 
they  had  not  met  for  nine  years,  and  now! — ah,  that 
explained  all  her  coldness  then,  and  that  extraordinary 
rejection  of  the  Crown  Prince  of  Deutschlaud,  which 
nobody  ever  had  been  able  to  understand.  But  was 
it  not  strange  that  he  had  never  tried  to  resume  his 
old  influence  before?  No  ;  he  was  as  proud  as  he  was 
poor,  and,  besides,  they  had  quarreled  after  the  duel 
with  her  brother ;  they  had  parted  one  night  very 
bitterly,  after  one  of  the  Empress's  balls  at  St.  Cloud, 
out  on  the  terrace  there ;  but  he  had  always  refused  to 
give  up  her  portrait;  somebody  had  seen  it  upon  his 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  109 

chest  when  he  had  been  stripped  in  the  hospital  after 
Ciistozza.     Oh,  yes,  they  remembered  that  perfectly. 

Altogether  they  made  such  a  very  pretty  story  that 
it  was  quite  a  pity  that  it  w'as  not  true,  and  that  the 
subjects  of  it  had  never  met  until  the  Due  de  St.  Louis 
had  brouo;ht  them  face  to  face  that  winter.  The  one 
real  truth  which  did  begin  to  embitter  the  life  of  the 
Lady  Hilda  and  lie  heavy  on  her  thoughts  waking  and 
sleeping  was  one  that  the  garrulous  gossiping  Pepys- 
like  northern  swallows,  chirping  so  busily,  did  not 
guess  at  all.  Indeed,  this  is  a  sad  fate  which  generally 
befalls  gossip. 

It  is  like  tlie  poor  devil  in  the  legend  of  Fugger's 
TeufFelpalast  at  Trent :  it  toils  till  cock-crow  picking 
up  the  widely-scattered  grains  of  corn  by  millions  till 
the  bushel  measure  is  piled  high,  and,  lo !  the  five 
grains  that  are  the  grains  always  escape  its  sight  and 
roll  away  and  hide  themselves.  The  poor  devil,  being 
a  primitive  creature,  shrieked  and  flew  away  in  despair 
at  his  failure.  Gossip  hugs  its  false  measure  and  says 
loftily  that  the  five  grains  are  of  no  consequence  what- 
ever. 

The  Due  de  St.  Louis,  who  had  not  got  the  five 
grains  any  more  than  they  had,  yet  who  could  have 
told  them  their  bushelful  was  all  wrong,  like  a  wise 
man,  seeing  the  project  of  his  affections  in  a  fair  way 
towards  realization, — at  least,  so  he  thought, — pru- 
dently abstained  from  saying  one  word  about  it  to  any 
one.  "Trop  de  zele"  spoiled  everything,  he  knew,  from 
politics  to  omelettes,  from  the  making  of  proselytes  lo 
the  frying  of  artichokes.  A  breath  too  much  has  be- 
fore now  to])plcd  down  the  most  carefully  built  house 

10 


110  ^^^  ^    UIXTER    CI  TV. 

of  cards.  When  to  let  things  alone  is  perhaps  the 
subtlest,  rarest,  and  most  useful  of  all  knowledge. 

A  man  here  and  there  has  it ;  it  may  be  said  that  no 
woman  has,  has  had,  or  ever  will  have  it.  If  Napoleon 
had  had  it  he  might  have  died  at  eighty  at  St.  Cloud 
instead  of  St.  Helena.  But  genius,  like  woman,  never 
has  been  known  to  have  it.  For  genius  and  caution 
are  as  far  apart  as  the  poles. 

"  Tout  va  bien,"  the  Due  said  to  himself,  taking  off 
his  hat  to  her  when  he  saw  Delia  Rocca  by  her  car- 
riage, meeting  them  in  discussion  before  some  painting 
or  statue  that  she  was  about  to  buy,  or  watching  them 
Ute-a-tete  on  some  couch  of  a  ball-room,  or  in  some 
nook  of  a  gas-lit  grove  of  camellias. 

"  Tout  va  bien,"  said  the  Due,  smiling  to  himself, 
and  speeding  on  his  way  to  his  various  missions,  recon- 
ciling angry  ladies,  making  the  prettiest  flatteries  to 
pretty  ones,  seeking  some  unobtainable  enamel,  ivory, 
Oi*  Elzevir,  penning  sparkling  proverbs  in  verse,  ar- 
ranging costume  quadrilles,  preventing  duels  and  smil- 
ing on  debutantes,  adjusting  old  quarrels  and  hearing 
new  tenors ;  always  in  a  whirl  of  engagements,  always 
courted  and  courteous,  always  the  busiest,  the  wittiest, 
the  happiest,  the  most  urbane,  the  most  charming,  the 
most  serene  person  in  all  Floralia.  "  Tout  va  bien," 
said  the  Due,  and  the  town  with  him :  the  two  persons 
concerned  were  neither  of  them  quite  so  sure. 

Meanwhile,  for  a  little  space  the  name  and  fame  and 
ways  and  wonders  of  the  Lady  Hilda,  which  filled 
Floralia  witJi  a  blaze  as  of  electric  lights,  quelling  all 
lesser  luminaries,  were  almost  disregarded  in  a  colossal 
sentiment,  a  gigantic  discussion,  a  debate  which,  for 


JJV  A    WINTER   CI  TV.  HI 

endless  eloquence  and  breatliless  conflict,  Avould  require 
the  dithyrambs  of  Pindar  meetly  to  record, — the  grave 
question  of  who  would,  and  who  would  not,  go  to  the 
Postiche  ball. 

"  Number  One  goes  to  dine  with  Number  Two,  only 
that  he  may  say  he  did  so  to  Number  Three,"  some 
cynic  has  declared;  but  Floralia  improves  even  on 
this;  before  it  goes  to  dine  or  dance,  it  spends  the 
whole  week  in  trying  to  find  out  who  all  the  Number 
Fours  will  be,  or  in  declaring  that  if  such  and  such  a 
Number  Four  goes  it  does  not  think  it  can  go  itself, — 
out  of  principle;  all  which  diversions  while  its  time 
away  and  serve  to  amuse  it  as  a  box  of  toys  a  child. 
Not  that  it  ever  fails  to  go  and  dine  or  dance, — only 
it  likes  to  discuss  it  dubiously  in  this  Avay. 

The  Postiche  ball  was  really  a  thing  to  move  society 
to  its  depths. 

The  wintering-swallows  had  never  been  so  fluttered 
about  anything  since  the  mighty  and  immortal  question 
of  the  previous  season,  when  a  Prince  of  the  Holy 
Roman  Empire,  a  United  Netherlands  Minister,  and  a 
Due  et  Pair  of  France,  had  all  been  asked  to  dinner 
together  with  their  respective  wives  at  an  American 
house,  and  the  hostess  and  all  the  swallows  with  her 
had  lived  in  agonies  for  ten  days  previously,  torn 
to  pieces  by  the  terrible  doubts  of  Precedence;  be- 
seeching and  receiving  countless  counsels  and  coun- 
selors, and  consulting  authorities  and  quoting  precedents 
with  the  research  of  Max  Muller  and  the  zeal  of  Dr. 
Kenealy. 

But  the  Postiche  ball   was  a  much   wider,  indeed 
almost  an   international  matter;   because  the  Anglo- 


112  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

Saxor.  races  had  staked  their  lives  that  it  should  be  a 
success;  and  the  Latin  and  Muscovite  had  declared 
that  it  would  be  a  failure ;  and  everybody  was  dying 
to  go,  and  yet  everybody  was  ashamed  to  go ;  a  statt 
of  mind  wdiich  constitutes  the  highest  sort  of  social 
ecstasy  in  this  age  of  coni})osite  emotions. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joshua  R.  Postiche,  some  said,  were 
Jews,  and  some  said  were  Dutch,  and  some  said  were 
half-castes  from  Cuba,  and  some  said  were  America)is 
from  Arkansas,  and  some  said  had  been  usurers,  and 
some   gin-sellers,  and  some  opium-dealers,  and  some 
things  even  yet  worse ;  at  any  rate  they  had  amassed  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  had  therefore  got  into  society 
by  dint  of  a  very  large  expenditure  and  the  meekes. 
endurance  of  insults;  and  had  made  an  ancient  palace 
as  gaudy  and  garish  as  any  brand-new  hotel  at  Nice  or 
Scarborough,  and  gathered  in  it  all  the  cosmopolitan 
crowd  of  Floralia;  some  of  the  Italian  planets  and  Mus- 
covite stars  alone  hanging  aloof  in  a  loftier  atmosphere, 
to  the  very  great  anguish  of  the  Joshua  R.  Postiches. 
'     The  ball  was  to  be  a  wonderful  ball,  and  the  cotillon 
})resents  were  whispered  to  have  cost  thirty  thousand 
francs,  and  there  w^ere  various  rumors  of  a  "  surprise" 
tiiere  would  be  at  it,  as  poor  Louis  Napoleon  used  to 
})romise  the  Parisians  one  for  the  New  Year.     Louis 
Napoleon's  promises  always  ended  in  smoke,  but  the 
surprise  of  the  Joshua  R.  Postiches  was  always  to  h 
reckoned   on    as  something   excellent: — salmon  comt 
straio-ht  from  the   Scotch    rivers;    lobsters   stewed   in 
tokay  du  krone ;    French  comic  actors    fetched    from 
Paris ;  some  great  singer,  paid  heaven  knew  what  for 
merely  opening    her  mouth;  some  dove    flyiuL'"  about 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  II3 

Nvitli  jewels  in  liis  beak  for  everybody ;  or  something 
of  that  sort,  which  showed  that  the  Joshua  E,.  Postiches, 
wherever  they  had  been  "  raised,"  or  even  if  they  liad 
kept  a  drinking-bar  and  eating-siiop  in  Havana,  as  some 
people  said,  were  at  all  events  persons  who  knew  the 
requirements  of  their  own  generation  and  the  w^ay  to 
mount  into  "  La  Haute." 

Why  they  wanted  to  get  there  no  mortal  could  tell ; 
they  had  no  children,  and  were  both  middle-aged ;  but 
no  doubt,  if  you  have  not  been  used  to  them,  the  cards 
of  countesses  are  as  balm  in  Gilead,  and  to  see  a  fash- 
ionable throng  come  up  your  stiiircase  is  to  have  attained 
the  height  of  human  desire. 

At  any  rate,  the  Joshua  R.  Postiches  had  set  their 
souls  on  this  sort  of  social  success,  and  they  achieved  it; 
receiving  at  their  parties  many  distinguished  and  in- 
finitely bored  personages  who  had  nothing  to  do  in  Flo- 
ralia,  and  would  have  cut  them  in  Paris,  Vienna,  or 
London  with  the  blandest  and  blankest  stare  of  uncon- 
sciousness. 

Madame  Mila  was  on  the  point  of  adding  herself  to 
those  personages. 

"  I  must  go  to  the  ball,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  it  will  be 
the  best  thing  of  the  season  except  Nina  Trasimene's. 
I  must  go  to  the  ball ;  but  then  I  can't  endure  to  know 
the  woman." 

"Can't  you  go  without  knowing  her?"  said  the  Lady 
Hilda.     "  That  has  been  done " 

Madame  Mila  did  not  feel  the  satire. 

"  Yes ;  one  could  do  it  in  Paris  or  London  ;  but  not 
in  a  little  place  like  this,"  she  answered,  innocently. 
''  I  must  let  them  present  her  to  me ;  and  I  must  leave 

10*  H 


114  IN  A  WINTER  crrr. 

a  card.  That  is  what's  so  horrid.  The  Avoman  is 
dreadful;  she  murders  all  the  languages;  and  the  man's 
always  looking  about  for  a  spittoon,  and  calls  you  my 
lady.  They  are  too  dreadful !  But  I  must  go  to  the 
ball.  Besides,  our  own  people  want  Maurice  to  lead 
the  cotillon.  Now  Guido  Salvareo  is  ill,  there's  nobody 
that  can  come  near  Maurice " 

"  But  I  suppose  he  would  not  dare  to  go  if  you  were 
not  there  ?" 

"Of  course  he  would  not  go;  the  idea!  But  I  mean 
to  go ;  I  must  go.  I'm  only  thinking  how  I  can  get 
out  of  knowing  the  woman  afterwards.  It's  so  diffi- 
cult in  a  small  place,  and  I  am  always  so  good-natured 
in  those  things.  I  suppose  it's  no  use  asking. you  to 
come,  Plilda?  else,  if  you  would,  you  could  cut  them 
afterwards  most  deliciously,  and  I  should  do  as  you  did. 
Left  to  myself,  I'm  ahvays  too  good-natured." 

"  I  would  do  most  things  to  please  you,  my  dear 
Mila,"  answered  her  cousin,  "  but  I  don't  think  I  can 
do  that.  You  know  it's  my  rule  never  to  visit  people 
that  I  won't  let  visit  me ;  and  I  don't  like  murdered 
languages,  and  being  called  '  my  lady.'  " 

"  Oh,  the  people  are  horrid, — I  say  so,"  answered 
the  Comtesse.  "  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  them, 
of  course, — after  their  ball." 

"But  surely  it's  very  low,  Mila,  that  sort  of  thing. 
I  know  people  do  it  nowadays.  But,  really,  to  be  a 
guest  of  a  person  you  intend  to  cut  next  day " 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  She  wants  my  name  on 
lier  list ;  she  gets  it ;  I'm  not  bound  to  give  her  any- 
thing more.  There  is  nothing  unfair  about  it.  She 
has  what  she  wants,  and  more  than  she  could  expect. 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  115 

Of  course,  all  that  kind  of  persons  must  know  per- 
fectly well  that  we  only  go  to  them  as  Ave  go  to  the 
opera,  and  have  no  more  to  do  with  them  than  we 
have  with  the  opera  door-keepers.  Of  course  they 
know  we  don't  visit  them  as  we  visit  our  own  people 
But  if  snobbish  creatures  like  those  find  pleasure  in 
entertaining  us,  though  they  know  quite  well  what  we 
think  of  them,  and  how  we  esteem  them,  and  why  wc 
go  to  them, — well,  I  don't  see  that  they  deserve  any- 
thing better." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda.  "  Only  I  shouldn't 
go  to  them;  that's  all.  And  it  is  very  funny,  my  love, 
that  you,  who  have  lived  in  all  the  great  courts  of 
Europe,  and  have  had  your  own  embassy  in  London, 
should  care  one  straw  for  a  ball  at  the  Joshua  R.  Pos- 
tiches'.  Good  gracious!  You  must  have  seen  about 
seventy  thousand  balls  in  your  time  !" 

"I  am  only  six  years  older  than  you,  Hilda,"  said 
she,  tartly.  "I  suppose  you've  been  telling  Delia 
Rocca  not  to  go  to  the  Postiches'.  Olga  and  the  Baron- 
ess and  Madame  Valkyria  and  scores  of  them  have 
been  trying  to  persuade  him  all  the  week,  because  if  he 
stay  away  so  many  of  the  other  men  will ;  and  none  of 
us  can  stir  him  an  inch  about  it.  *On  pent  etre  do 
tr^s-braves  gens, — mais  je  n'y  vais  pas,'  that  is  all  he 
says ;  as  if  there  being  '  braves  gens'  or  not  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it;  and  yet  I  saw  him  the  other  day 
with  his  hand  on  a  contadino's  shoulder  in  the  market- 
place, and  he  was  calling  him  'carissimo  mio.'" 

"One  of  his  own  peasants,  most  likely,"  said  the 
Lady  Hilda,  coldly.  "  I  have  never  heard  these  Pob- 
tiches  even  mentioned  by  M.  Delia  Rocca,  and  I  cer- 


11(5  IN  A    WINTER    CITV. 

tainly  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  where  he  goea 
or  doesn't  go." 

"  He  is  always  with  you,  at  any  rate,"  said  Madame 
Mila ;  "  and  if  you  would  make  him  go,  it  would  only 
be  kind  of  you.  You  see  we  want  everybody  we  know, 
so  that  we  may  be  sure  to  make  the  square  dances  only 
of  our  own  people,  and  not  to  see  anything  of  anybody 
the  Postiches  may  have  asked  themselves.  Little  Dickie 
Dorrian,  who's  managing  it  all,  said  to  the  woman  Pos- 
tiche,  'I'll  bring  the  English  division  if  you'll  spend 
enough  on  the  cotillon  toys ;  but  I  won't  undertake  the 
Italians.'     Now,  if  Delia  Rocca " 

"  Would  you  want  a  new  dress,  Mila  ?"  said  the 
Lady  Hilda ;  "  I  am  sure  you  must  if  you're  going  to 
a  woman  you  can't  know  the  next  day." 

"I  should  like  one,  of  course,"  said  the  Comtesse, 
"but  I've  had  thirty  new  ones  this  season  already — 
and  what  I  owe  Worth  ! — not  to  talk  of  the  JNIaisou 
Roger " 

"  Let  me  give  you  one,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda. 
*'  Worth  will  do  anything  at  short  notice  for  either 
of  us ;  and  I  must  think  this  poor  Postiche  woman 
ought  to  see  you  in  a  new  dress,  as  she's  never  to  see 
you  again." 

"  You  are  a  darling,  Hilda !"  said  Madame  Mila, 
with  ardent  effusion,  rising  to  kiss  her  cousin. 

Lady  Hilda  turned  to  let  the  caress  fall  on  the  old 
guipure  lace  fichu  round  her  throat,  and  drew  her 
writing-things  to  her  to  pen  a  telegram  to  M.  Worth. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  care  to  say  what  color?"  she 
asked,  as  she  wrote. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  the  Comtesse.     "He  remembers 


7.Y  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  ]]7 

all  the  combinations  I've  had  much  better  than  I  do. 
You  dictate  to  him  a  little  too  much;  I've  heard  him 

say  so " 

"He  never  said  so  to  me,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  with 
a  laugh.  "Of  coui*se  I  dictate  to  him.  Whatever 
taste  your  dress-maker,  man  or  woman,  may  have, — 
and  he  has  genius, — there  are  little  touches  which  should 
always  come  from  oneself,  and  which  can  alone  give 
originality.  That  is  why  all  that  herd  of  women,  who 
really  do  go  to  Worth  but  yet  are  nobodies,  look  hardly 
the  better  for  him ;  he  thinks  about  us,  and  we  think 
about  ourselves  ;  but  he  doesn't  think  about  them,  and, 
as  they  have  no  thoughts  themselves,  the  result  is  that 
they  all  look  as  conventional  and  similar  as  if  they 
were  dolls  dressed  for  a  bazaar.  Women  ought  to  be 
educated  to  more  sense  of  color  and  form.  Even  an 
ugly  woman  ought  to  be  taught  that  it  is  her  duty  to 
make  her  ugliness  as  little  disagreeable  as  possible.  If 
the  eyes  and  the  taste  of  women  were  cultivated  by  ar- 
tistic study,  an  ill-dressed  woman  would  become  an  im- 
possibility. If  I  were  ever  so  })Oor,"  continued  the  Lady 
Hilda,  impressively, — "if  I  were  ever  so  poor,  and  had 
to  sew  my  own  gowns,  and  make  them  of  serge  or  of 
dimity,  I  would  cut  them  so  that  Giorgione  or  Gains- 
borough, if  they  were  living,  would  be  able  to  look  at 
me  with  complaisancy, — or  at  all  events  without  a 
shudder.  It  is  not  half  so  much  a  question  of  material 
as  it  is  of  tivste.  But  nowadays  the  people  who  cannot 
aiford  material  have  no  taste;  so  that  after  us,  and  tiie 
women  whom  Worth  manages  to  make  look  decently 
in  spite  of  themselves,  there  is  nothing  but  a  multitude 
of  hideously-attired  persons,  who  make  the  very  streets 


118  I^^  ^    WINTER    CITY. 

appalling  either  by  dreariness  or  gaudiness: — they  never 
have  any  medium.  Now,  a  peasant-girl  of  the  Marche, 
or  of  the  Agro  Romana,  or  of  the  Pays  de  Vaud,  is 
charming,  because  her  garments  have  beauty  of  hue  in 
them,  and  that  other  beauty  which  comes  from  perfect 
Buitability  and ah!   come  sta,  Duca?" 

She  interrupted  herself,  and  turned  to  Delia  Rocca, 
who  was  standing  behind  her,  the  servant's  amiouuce- 
ment  of  him  having  been  unheard:  it  was  her  day  to 
receive. 

"Oh  that  the  rest  of  your  sex,  madame,"  he  said, 
after  his  salutations  were  made,  "could  sit  at  your  feet 
and  take  in  those  words  of  wisdom !  Yes,  I  heard  most 
that  you  said;  I  can  understand  your  tongue  a  little; 
you  are  so  right ;  it  is  the  duty  of  every  woman  to  make 
herself  as  full  of  grace  as  she  can ;  all  cannot  be  lovely, 
but  none  need  be  unlovely." 

"Exactly;  women  are  reproached  with  thinking  too 
much  about  dress,  but  the  real  truth  is,  they  do  not 
think  enough  about  it, — in  the  right  way.  They  talk 
about  it  dreadfully,  in  the  vulgarest  fashion,  but  bring 
any  thought  to  it  they  don't.  Most  women  will  wear 
anything  if  it  be  only  de  rigueur.  I  believe  if  I,  and 
Princess  Metternich,  and  Madame  de  Gallifet,  and  Mad- 
ame Aguado,  and  a  few  like  us  wore  that  pea-green  silk 
coat  and  waistcoat  which  the  Advanced  Thought  Ladies 
of  America  are  advocating  as  the  best  new  kind  of  dress 
for  women,  that  you  would  see  ten  thoasand  pea-green 
coats  and  waistcoats  blazing  in  the  streets  the  week  after- 
wards." 

"Not  a  bad  idea  for  the  Cotton  Costmne  ball,"  said 
Madame  Mila.     "I  will   have  a  pea-green  coat  and 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  119 

waistcoat,   a  tall   hat,  and  Hessians,   and   call   myself 
^Advanced  Thought.'" 

"  To  be  completely  in  character,  Mila,  you  must  have 
blue  spectacles,  a  penny  whistle,  a  phial  full  of  nos- 
trums, a  magpie  for  your  emblem,  and  a  calico  banner, 
inscribed  'Everything  is  Nothing!' " 

"Charming!  It  shall  be  the  best  thing  there.  Draw 
it  for  me,  Delia  Rocca,  and  I  will  send  the  sketcli  to 
Paris,  so  that  it  can  all  come  in  a  box  together,  magpie 
and  all." 

He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  to  him,  and  sketched  the 
figure  in  ink,  with  spirit. 

"You  have  all  the  talents;  so  many  thanks,"  said 
Madame  Mila,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

Delia  Rocca  sighed. 

"  If  I  have  them  I  have  buried  them,  madame ; — 
but  indeed  I  can  make  no  such  claim." 

"  So  many  thanks,"  echoed  the  Comtesse.  "  Pray 
don't  say  a  word  about  it,  or  we  shall  have  a  dozen 
'  Advanced  Thoughts'  in  calico.  Hilda,  I  am  just 
going  to  Nina's  to  see  about  i\\Q  3Tascadins.  I  have 
resolved  we  shall  play  that  piece  or  no  other.  I  shall 
be  back  in  ten  minutes;  ask  Olga  to  wait."  And 
Madame  Mila  wafted  herself  out  of  the  room,  and 
<l()wn-stairs  to  the  court-yard,  where  the  coupe  and  the 
exemplary  Maurice  were  Avaiting. 

"How  she  does  amuse  herself!"  said  Lady  Hilda,  a 
little  enviously.  "I  wish  I  could  do  it!  AVhat  can  it 
matter  whether  they  play  the  Muscadins  or  anything 
else?" 

"  Plus  on  est  fou,  plus  on  rit,"  said  Delia  Rocca, 
gketching  arabesques  with  his  pen.     "Nay,  that  is  too 


120  ^-^  ^   WINTER   CITY. 

impolite  in  me  to  charming  Madame  Mila.     But,  like 
all  old  proverbs,  it  is  more  true  than  elegant." 

"Do  you  know,  madame,"  he  continued,  with  a  little 
hesitation,  "I  have  often  ventured  to  think  that,  de- 
spite your  brilliancy,  and  your  position,  and  all  youj 
enviable  fate,  you  are  not  altogether — quite  happy  ? 
Am  I  right?  Or  have  I  committed  too  great  an  im- 
pertinence to  be  answered  ?" 

"  No  impertinence  whatever,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 
a  little  wearily.  "  You  may  be  right ;  I  don't  know ; 
I  am  not  unhappy,  certainly, — I  have  nothing  to  be 
unhappy  about;  but — most  things  seem  very  stupid  to 
me.  I  confess,  Mila's  endless  diversions  and  excite- 
ments are  quite  beyond  me.  There  is  such  a  terrible 
sameness  in  everything." 

"  Because  you  have  no  deeper  interests,"  he  answered 
her.  He  still  sat  near  her  at  her  writing-table  beside 
the  fire,  and  was  playing  with  the  little  jeweled  boy 
who  held  her  pen-wiper. 

She  did  not  answer  him  ;  and  he  continued : 

"  I  think  you  have  said  yourself,  madame,  the  cause 
why  everything  seems  more  or  less  wearisome  to  you  : 
you  have  '  nothing  to  be  unhappy  about ;'  that  is,  you 
have  no  one  for  whom  you  care." 

He  thought  that  her  proud  delicate  face  colored  a 
little ;  or  it  might  be  the  warmth  from  the  fire  of  oak- 
logs  and  pine-cones. 

"No;  I  don't  care  about  people,"  she  answered 
him,  indifferently.  "  When  you  have  seen  a  person  a 
few  times,  it  is  enough.  It  is  like  a  book  you  have 
read  through:  the  interest  is  gone;  you  know  the  moi 
(Tenif/me." 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  121 

"You  speak  of  society;  I  spoke  of  affections." 

The  Lady  Hilda  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  can't  follow  you.  I  do  not  feel  them.  I  like 
Clairvaux,  my  brother,  certainly,  but  we  go  years  with- 
out seeing  each  other  quite  contentedly." 

"  I  spoke  of  affections, — other  affections,"  replied 
Delia  Rocca,  with  a  little  impatience.  "  There  is  no- 
thing else  that  gives  warmth  or  color  to  life.  With- 
out them  there  is  no  glow  in  its  pictures,  they  are  all 
painted  en  grisaille.  Pleasure  alone  cannot  content 
any  one  whose  character  has  any  force  or  mind,  any 
high  intelligence.  Society  is,  as  you  say,  a  book  we 
soon  read  through,  and  know  by  heart  till  it  loses  all 
interest.  Art  alone  cannot  fill  more  than  a  certain 
part  of  our  emotions ;  and  culture,  however  perfect, 
leaves  us  unsatisfied.  There  is  only  one  thing  that 
can  give  to  life  what  your  poet  called  the  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land, — and  that  is  human  love." 

His  eyes  rested  on  her ;  and  for  once  in  her  life  her 
own  eyes  fell ;  a  troubled  softness  came  for  a  moment 
on  her  face,  dispersing  all  its  languor  and  its  coldness. 
In  another  moment  she  recovered  herself,  and  smiled  a 
little. 

"  Ah !  you  are  appassionato,  as  becomes  your  coun- 
try." 

Delia  Eocca  looked  at  her  with  something  of  disap- 
pointment and  something  of  distaste.  He  rose,  and 
approached  the  grand  piano. 

"You  allow  me?"  lie  said,  and  touched  a  few  of  the 
chords.     He  sang  very  low,  and  almost  as  it  were  to 
himself,  a  canzone  of  the  people  : 
F  11 


122  -f^V  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

'■  Si  tu  mi  lasci,  lasciar  non  te  voglio ; 
Se  m'  abbandoni,  ti  voseguitare; 
Se  passi  il  mare,  il  mar  passare  io  voglio ; 
Se  girl  il  mondo,  il  mondo  vo'  girare,"  etc.* 

The  words  were  very  simple,  but  the  melody  was 
passionate  and  beautiful ;  his  voice,  so  low  at  first, 
rose  louder,  with  all  the  yearning  tenderness  in  it  with 
which  the  song  is  laden;  and  the  soft  sounds  echoed 
through  the  silent  room,  as  they  had  echoed  ten  thou- 
sand times  in  moonlit  nights  of  midsummer,  over  the 
land  where  Romeo  and  Stradella  and  Francesca  loved. 

His  voice  sank  softly  into  silence ;  and  Lady  Hilda 
did  not  move. 

There  was  a  mist  that  was  almost  like  tears  in  her 
proud  eyes ;  she  gazed  into  the  fire,  with  her  cheek 
leaning  on  her  hand ;  she  did  not  speak  to  him ;  there 
was  no  sound  but  the  falling  of  some  burning  wood 
u[)on  the  hearth. 

"The  simplest  contadina  in  the  land  would  under- 
stand that,"  he  said,  as  he  rose ;  "  and  you,  great  lady 
thougli  you  are,  cannot?  Madame,  there  are  things, 
after  all,  that  you  have  missed." 

"  Go  back  and  sing  again,"  she  said  to  him,  taking 
no  notice  of  his  words;  "I  did  not  know  you  ever 
eang " 

"  Every  Italian  does, — or  well  or  ill,"  he  answered 
her.     "We  are  born  with  music  in  us,  like  the  birds." 

"  But  in  society  who  hears  you?" 

*"  Leavest  thou  me? — leave  thee  I  will  not. 
Dost  thou  forsake  me,  yet  will  I  follow  thee. 
Does  the  sea  take  thee  ? — the  sea  will  I  traverse. 
Wilt  thou  wander  the  world,  then  a  wanderer  am  I." 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  123 

"No  one.  An  atraospliere  of  gas,  candles,  ennui, 
perfume,  heat,  and  inane  flatteries!  ah  no,  madame; 
nuisic;  is  meant  for  silence,  moonlight,  vine-paths,  sum- 
mer nights " 

"  This  is  winter  and  firelight,  a  few  arm-chairs  and 
a  great  deal  of  street-noise ;  all  the  same,  go  back  and 
Ring  me  more." 

She  spoke  indifferently  and  lightly,  leaning  her  hand 
back  on  her  chair,  and  hiding  a  little  yawn  with  her 
hand ;  she  would  not  have  him  see  that  he  had  touched 
her  to  any  foolish,  momentary  weakness.  But  he  had 
seen.     He  smiled  a  little. 

"  As  you  command,"  he  answered,  and  he  went  back 
and  made  her  music  as  she  wished ;  short  love-lyrics 
of  the  populace,  sonnets  set  to  noble  airs,  wild  mourn- 
ful boat-songs,  and  snatches  of  soft  melodies,  such  as 
echo  all  the  harvest-time  through  the  firefly-lighted 
corn, — things  all  familiar  to  him  from  his  infancy, 
but  to  her  unknown,  and  full  of  the  force  and  the 
yearning  of  the  passion  which  was  unknown  to  her 
also,  and  in  a  certain  way  derided  by  her. 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  came  and  leaned  on  the 
chimney-piece  near  her,  with  his  arm  among  the  little 
pug-dogs  in  Saxe,  and  figures  and  fountains  in  Capo  di 
Monte,  which  she  had  collected  in  a  few  weeks  from 
the  bric-a-brac  people.  He  did  not  speak ;  he  only 
looked  at  her  where  she  sat,  with  the  firelight  and  the 
dying  daylight  on  the  silver-fox  furs  fringing  her  dress, 
on  the  repousse  gold  and  silver  work  of  her  loose  girdle, 
on  the  ends  of  the  old  Spanish  lace  about  her  throat, 
on  th(!  great  rings  that  sparkled  on  her  white  fingers, 
which  were  lying  so  idly  clasped  together  on  her  lap. 


124  I^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

"You  sing  very  beautifully,"  she  said,  calmly,  at 
length,  with  her  eyes  half  closed  and  her  head  lying 
back  on  the  chair-cushions.  "  It  is  very  strange  you 
should  be  so  mute  in  society." 

"I  never  sang  to  a  crowd  in  my  life,  and  never 
would.  Music  is  an  impulse,  or  it  is  nothing.  I  could 
never  sing  save  to  some  woman  who " 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"Who  was  music  in  herself,"  he  added,  with  a  smile: 
it  was  not  what  had  been  upon  his  lips. 

"  Then  you  should  not  have  sung  to  me,"  she  said, 
still  with  half-closed  eyes  and  a  careless  coldness  in  her 
voice.  "  I  am  all  discord ;  have  you  not  found  that 
out  ? — every  woman  is,  nowadays ;  we  have  lost  the 
secret  of  harmony ;  we  are  always  wanting  to  be  excited, 
and  never  succeeding  in  being  anything  but  bored." 

"  These  are  mere  words,  madame,"  he  answered  her. 
"  I  hope  they  are  not  true.  By  discord  I  think  you 
only  mean  inconsistency.  Pardon  me,  but  I  think  you 
are  all  so  wearied  because  of  the  monotony  of  your  lives. 
I  dare  say  that  sounds  very  strangely  to  you,  because 
you  pursue  all  the  pleasures  and  all  the  extravagances 
that  are  obtainable.  But  then  all  these  are  no  novel- 
ties, they  are  merely  habits.  Habit  is  nothing  better 
than  a  harness,  even  when  it  is  one  silvered  and  belled. 
You  have  exhausted  everything  too  early :  how  can  it 
have  flavor?  You  pursue  an  unvarying  routine  of 
amusement :  how  can  it  amuse  ?  The  life  of  the  great 
world  is,  after  all,  when  we  once  know  it  well,  as  tire- 
some as  the  life  of  the  peasant, — perhaps  more  so.  I 
know  both." 

"All  that  may  be  right  enough,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  125 

"  but  there  is  no  help  for  it,  that  I  sec.     If  the  world 
is  not  amusing,  that  is  not  our  fault.     In  the  Beau 

Siecle,  perhaps,  or  in  Augustan  Rome " 

"  Be  very  sure  it  was  the  same  thing.  An  artificial 
life  must  grow  tiresome  to  any  one  with  a  mind  above 
that  of  a  parrot  or  a  monkey.  If  we  can  be  content 
with  it,  we  deserve  nothing  better.  What  you  call 
your  discord  is  nothing  but  your  dissatisfaction, — the 
highest  part  of  you.  If  it  were  not  treason  to  say  so, 
treason  against  this  exquisite  apparel,  I  would  say  that 
you  would  be  more  likely  to  know  happiness  were  you 
condemned  to  the  serge  and  the  dimity  you  spoke  of 
to  Madame  Mila  an  hour  ago." 

He  had  sunk  on  a  stool  at  her  feet  as  he  spoke,  and 
caressed  the  silver  fox  and  the  gold  girdle  lightly ; 
his  hand  touched  hers  in  passing,  and  her  face  grew 
warm.  She  put  a  feather  screen  between  her  and  the 
fire. 

"That  is  the  old  argument  of  content  in  the  cot- 
tage, etc.,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  I  do  not 
believe  in  it  in  the  least.  If  it  be  '  best  repenting  in  a 
coach-and-six,'  it  must  be  best  to  be  bored  in  an  arm- 
chair  " 

"  Perhaps.  It  is  not  I,  certainly,  who  should  praise 
poverty,"  he  said,  with  some  bitterness,  and  more  sad- 
ness; "and,  indeed,  poverty  or  riches  has  little  to  do 
with  the  question  of  happiness;  happiness  can  comp. 
but  from  one  thing " 

"  A  good  conscience?    How  terribly  moral  you  are!" 

"No: — from  our  emotions,  from  our  passions,  from 
mur  sympathies ;  in  fine,  from  Love." 

His  hand  still  played  with  the  gold  fringe  of  the 

11* 


126  JN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

girdle  as  he  sat  at  her  feet ;  his  eyes  were  lifted  to  her 
face;  his  voice  was  very  low;  in  all  his  attitude  and 
action  and  regard  there  were  an  unuttered  solicitation, 
an  eloquence  of  unspoken  meaning;  she  was  silent; — 
then  the  door  opened ;  he  dropped  the  girdle,  and  rose 
to  his  feet;  there  came  a  patter  of  high  heels,  and  a 
cliime  of  swift  aristocratic  voices;  and  into  the  room 
tliere  entered  the  Princess  Olga,  attended  by  her  con- 
stant shadow,  Don  Carlo  Maremma,  with  Lady  Feather- 
leigh  behind  her,  accompanied  by  her  attendant,  Prince 
Nicolas  Doggendorft' 

"Ma  chere,  there  is  a  regular  riot  going  on  at  Nina's," 
said  the  Princess  Olga,  advancing  with  both  hands  out- 
stretched. "All  about  those  3Iuscadins.  Mila  has 
seceded  in  full  form,  and,  of  course,  M.  des  Gommeux 
with  her.  Blanche  will  only  play  if  they  have  '  lifaut 
qu'une  porie,'  etc.,  which  is  as  old  as  the  hills,  and  Mila 
won't  play  at  all  if  Blanche  be  allowed  to  play  anything. 
They  have  quarreled  for  life ;  so  have  Mila  and  Nina. 
They  are  slanging  each  other  like  two  street-boys.  Al- 
berto Rimini  is  on  his  knees  between  them,  and  the  Due 
is  declaring  for  the  five  thousandth  time  that  it  is  the 
last  he  will  ever  have  to  do  with  theatricals.  I  left 
while  I  could  escape  with  life.  What  a  pity  it  is  that 
playing  for  charity  always  develops  such  fierce  hostil- 
ities! Well,  Paolo,  have  you  thought  better  of  the 
Postiche  ball  ?  No  ?  How  stiff-necked  you  are !  I 
do  believe  Carlo  will  be  the  only  Italian  there!" 

"  It  will  be  a  distinction  to  inscribe  on  his  tombstone, 
madame,"  said  Delia  Rocca.  "But  then  he  goes  under 
command " 

"  And  under  protest,"  murmured  Don  Carlo. 


7iV^  A    WINTER    CITY.  127 

"Wliich  does  not  count.  When  one  is  no  longer  a 
free  agent " 

Princess  Olga  hit  him  a  little  blow  with  her  muff". 

"  But  why  should  you  not  go  to  the  Postichcs'  ? 
Just  as  you  go  to  the  Veglione;  it  is  nothing  more.'' 

"  Madame,  I  am  very  old-fashioned  in  my  ideas,  I 
dare  say,  but  I  confess  I  think  that  no  one  should  ac- 
cept as  a  host  a  person  he  would  never  accept  as  his 
guest.     I  may  be  wrong " 

"  Of  course  you  are  wrong.  That  is  not  the  question 
at  all,"  said  Princess  Olga,  who  did  not  like  people  io 
differ  with  her.  "Joshua  P.  Postiche  will  never  dream 
of  being  asked  to  shoot  your  wild  ducks  or  your  par- 
tridges. All  he  wants  is  that  you  should  just  be  seen 
going  up  his  staircase  and  drinking  his  champagne. 
Society  is  full  of  Postichcs, — low  people,  with  a  craze 
for  entertaining  high  people.  They  don't  care  how  we 
insult  them,  nor  how  we  laugh  at  them,  provided  our 
cards  lie  in  the  bowl  in  their  hall.  We  take  them  at 
their  own  valuation,  and  treat  them  as  we  treat  the 
waiters  at  Spillman's  or  Doney's :  we  have  paid  the 
bill  with  our  cards." 

"  That  is  to  say,  we  have  paid  with  our  names, — ■ 
which  should  represent  all  the  honor,  dignity,  and  self- 
respect  that  we  have  inherited,  and  are  bound  to  main- 
tain, for  our  own  sakes  and  for  those  who  may  come 
after  us." 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu,  quel  grand  s^rieux!"  cried  the  prin- 
cess, impatiently.  "But,  of  course,  if  you've  been  sit- 
ting with  Hilda  you  have  got  more  stiff-necked  than 
ever.  What  do  you  say,  Hilda?  Isn't  it  ill-natured 
of  him?     He  need    only  walk    in,  bow    once    to    the 


128  -^^^'  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

woman,  and  look  on  at  the  edge  of  the  ball-room  for 
twenty  minutes.  The  other  men  will  go  if  he  will  do 
as  much  as  that." 

"  I  think  M.  della  Rocca  quite  right  not  Ho  do  as 
much  as  that/  "  said  the  Lady  Hilda.  "  Why  Society 
ever  does  as  much  as  that,  or  half  as  much,  or  anything 
at  all,  for  Joshua  R.  Postiche,  I  can  never  tell.  As  it 
does,  to  be  consistent  everybody  should  dine  with  the 
fruit-woman  from  the  street-corner,  and  play  ecart^ 
with  their  own  chimney-sweeps." 

"  Oh,  we  shall  come  to  that,  madame,"  said  Nicolas 
Doggendorff.  "At  least,  if  chimney-sweej)ing  ever 
makes  heaps  of  money ;  I  don't  think  it  does ;  it  only 
chokes  little  boys." 

"  Ce  bon  Monsieur  Postiche  sold  rum  and  molasses," 
murmured  Don  Carlo. 

"  What's  it  to  us  what  he  sold  ?"  said  Lady  Feather- 
leigh.  "  We've  nothing  to  do  M'ith  him ;  we're  only 
going  to  his  ball.  You  talk  as  if  we  asked  the  man  to 
dinner." 

"What  does  the  Archduchess  Anna  always  say:  'Oii 
je  m'amuse,  j'y  vais.'  So  we  do  all.  I  hear  he  has 
been  put  up  for  the  Club:  is  it  true?"  said  Princess 
Olga  to  Carlo  Maremma. 

"  Yes ;  Krunensberg  has  put  him  up,"  he  answered 
her ;  "  but  he  shall  never  get  into  it,  while  there  are 
any  of  us  alive." 

"  Et  s'il  n'y  a  qu'un,  moi  je  serai  celui-la,"  quoted 
Della  Rocca. 

"  But  he  has  lent  Krunensberg  heaven  knows  what, 
■ — some  say  two  million  francs,"  said  Lady  Feather- 
leifrh. 


7.V  A  WINTER  cirr.  129 

Prince  Krnnensberg  was  a  great  personage,  and,  for 
a  foreigner,  of  great  influence  in  the  Club. 

"  Chere  dame,"  said  Delia  Rocca,  "  if  we  elect  all 
Krunensberg's  creditors  we  shall  have  to  cover  three 
streets  with  our  club-house  !" 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  I  am  half  dead !"  cried  Madame 
Mila,  flashing  into  the  room,  gorgeous  in  the  feathers 
of  the  golden  pheasant,  arranged  in  the  most  exquisite 
combination  on  violet  satin  and  bronze  velvet,  and 
throwing  her  muff  on  one  side  of  her  and  her  parasol 
on  the  other,  while  Maurice  des  Gommeux,  who  was 
the  most  admirable  of  upper  servants,  stooped  for  them 
and  smoothed  their  ruffled  elegance.  "  I  am  half  dead ! 
Such  a  scene  I  never  went  through  in  my  life, — I,  who 
liate  scenes,  and  never  have  any  hardly  even  with 
Spiridion  !  Oh,  has  Olga  told  you  ?  Yes;  it  is  horri- 
ble, infamous,  intolerable ! — after  all  I  have  done  for 
that  odious  Dumb  Asylum, — and  my  costumes  ordered 
for  the  3Iuscadins,  and  half  the  part  learnt !  It  is  all 
Krunensberg's  doing, — and  the  Due  didn't  stand  out 
one-half  as  he  should  have  done  ;  and  Blanche ! — the 
idea — the  little  wretch  is  made  of  wood,  and  can't  even 
open  her  mouth  !  As  for  Krunensberg,  he  deserves  to 
be  shot!  It  is  all  his  influence  that  has  set  Nina 
against  the  Muscadins, — -just  to  spite  me !  What  I 
have  gone  through  about  this  wretched  theatre, — and 
then  to  have  that  little  chit  of  a  Blanche  set  over  my 
head,  a  little  creature,  only  married  out  of  her  convent 
List  vear, — it  is  unbearable !  of  course  neither  I  nor 
Des  Gommeux  shall  play.  Oh,  here  comes  the  Due. 
No,  Due,  it  is  not  the  slightest  use ;  if  you  have  that 
ridiculous  musty  old  piece  of  De  Musset's,  or  if  you 


130  ^-'^'  ^    UISTER    a  TV. 

have  Blanche  in  it  at  all,  you  don't  have  Me  in  any- 
thing! A  nice  morning's  work  you  have  made  of  it! 
Nina  and  I  shall  never  speak  again." 

The  Due  laid  his  hat  aside;  his  delicate  features 
were  puckered,  weary,  and  troubled. 

"  Mais,  madame,  pardon  ! — mais  vous  avez  toutes  (lit 
les  choses  les  plus  affreuses ! " 

"  Women  always  do,  Due,  when  they  are  in  a  pas- 
sion," said  Lady  Hilda.  "  There  is  nothing  like  a 
scene  for  discovering  our  real  opinions  of  each  other. 
"Why,  you  look  actually — -worried  !  I  thought  nothing 
ever  ruffled  you  by  any  chance  whatev^er." 

"  Madame,"  said  M.  de  St.  Louis,  stretching  himself, 
with  a  sigh,  in  a  low  chair  beside  her  and  the  fire,  "  I 
have  always  sedulously  cultivated  serenity.  I  believe 
serenity  to  be  the  whole  secret  of  human  health,  happi- 
ness, longevity,  good  taste,  sound  judgment,  everything 
in  point  of  fact  that  is  desirable  in  the  life  of  a  human 
being.  But,  alas !  we  are  all  mortal,  and  our  best  plans 
are  but  finite.  In  an  evil  moment,  when  Pandora's  box 
was  packed,  there  was  put  in  with  it  by  the  malice  of 
Mercury  a  detonating  jwwder,  called  Amateur  Rivalry. 
When  all  the  other  discords  were  dispersed,  this  shot 
itself  into  the  loveliest  forms  and  the  gentlest  bosoms; 
and  where  it  explodes,  the  wisest  man  stands  helpless. 
He  cannot  reconcile  the  warring  elements  nor  retain 
any  personal  peace  himself.  I  am  the  slave  of  Madanie 
Mila ;  I  adore  the  dust  of  the  exquisite  shoes  of  Ma- 
dame Nina;  I  am  penetrated  with  the  most  absolute 
devotion  to  Madame  Blanche :  when  these  heavenly 
graces  are  ready  to  rend  each  other's  hair,  what  can  I 
do?     What  can  I  be  except  the  most  unhappy  person 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  131 

upon  earth?  To  reconcile  ladies  who  are  j-*furiated 
is  a  hopeless  dream;  it  were  easier  to  make  wi*ole  again 
a  broken  glass  of  Venice.  It  makes  one  alji>'^st  wish," 
added  the  Due,  with  a  second  sigh, — "almoi^  wish  that 
Moliere  had  never  been  created,  or,  being  created,  had 
never  written.  But  for  Moliere  I  doubt  vf  ry  much  if 
the  Drama  as  an  Art  would  have  lingere(^  on  to  the 
present  time." 

"  Console  yourself,  my  dear  Due,"  said  1  ady  Hilda, 
"  console  yourself  with  a  line  from  JNIol  ere :  '  Cinq 
ou  six  coups  de  baton  entre  gens  qui  airaent  oe  font  que 
ragaillardir  I'amitie.'  Mila,  Nina,  and  Banche  will 
kiss  each  other  to-morrow ;  they  must,  or  w)  at  becomes 
of  the  great  Contes  de  Mere  d'Oie  Quad  ride  to  open 
the  Roubleskotr  ball?" 

"  I  shall  never  speak  to  either  of  them  ?o  long  as  I 
live,"  said  Madame  Mila,  still  ruffling  all  h«r  golden 
feathers  in  highest  wrath.  "  As  for  the  quadrille,  the 
RoubleskofF  must  do  as  they  can.  I  do  thin»t  Krunens- 
berg  has  made  Nina  perfectly  odious  ;  T  nev  t  saw  any- 
body so  altered  by  a  man  in  ray  life.  "V^  ell,  there's 
one  thing,  it  won't  last.     His  '  affairs'  nevei  do." 

"  It  will  last  as  long  as  her  jewels  do,"  said  Curio 
Maremma. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  can't  be  quite  so  bad  as  that.'' 

"Foi  d'honneur! — since  he  left  the  Sant  Anselmo 
you  have  never  seen  her  family  diamonds  ex^^^pt  in  the 
Paris  paste  replica^  which  she  tells  you  she  A'ears  for 
safety  and  because  it  is  such  a  bore  to  have  ^o  employ 
policemen  in  plain  clothes  at  the  balls " 

"Talk  of  policemen,"  said  Madame  Mila,  '*they  say 
we're  to  have  a  caution  sent  us  from  the  rrefecture 


132  J^  ^I    U'TXTER    CITY. 

about  oiu'  playing  baccarat  the  other  night  at  the 
cafe  :  they  say  no  gambling  is  allowed  in  the  city — 
the  idea!" 

"While  the  State  organizes  the  lotteries! — how  very 
consistent !"  said  the  Lady  Hilda. 

"  All  your  gaming  is  against  the  law,  angels  of  my 
Boul,"  said  Carlo  Maremma. 

"Then  we'll  all  leave  Floralia,"  said  Madame  Mila. 
"  The  idea  of  not  being  able  to  do  what  one  chooses  iu 
one's  own  rooms  I  There  is  one  thing,  we  can  always 
go  up  to  RoubleskofF's ;— they  will  never  dare  to  cau- 
tion him.  But  what  is  the  use  of  all  this  fuss? — every- 
body plays, — everybody  always  will  play." 

"The  Prefect  is  much  too  wise  a  man  ever  to  im- 
agine he  can  prevent  ladies  doing  Avhat  they  like,"  said 
Maremma.  "It  is  those  tremendous  losses  of  young 
De  Fabris  the  other  night  that  have  made  a  stir,  and 
the  Prefect  thinks  it  necessary  to  say  something :  he  is 
afraid  of  a  scandal." 

"  Good  gracious !  As  if  anything  filled  a  city  half 
60  well  as  a  scandal !  AVhy  don't  Floralia  have  a  good 
gaming-place,  like  Monte  Carlo?  we  shouldn't  want  to 
use  our  own  rooms  then " 

"I  confess,"  said  the  Due,  in  his  gentle,  meditative 
voice,  "  I  confess  that,  like  Miladi  here,  I  fail  to  alto- 
gether appreciate  the  moral  horror  of  a  game  at  bacca- 
rat entertained  by  a  municipality  which  in  its  legislation 
legalizes  the  lottery.  All  gaming  may  be  prejudicial  to 
the  moral  health  of  mankind ;  it  is  certainly  so  to  their 
purses ;  I  am  prepared  to  admit,  even  in  face  of  Ma- 
dame Mi  la's  direst  wrath,  that  all  forms  of  hazard  are 
exceedingly  injurious  to  the  character  and  to  the  for- 


7iV  A    WINTER    CITY.  lp,3 

tunes  of  every  person  tempted  by  them.  It  may  be 
impossible  even  to  exaggerate  their  baneful  influences 
or  their  disastrous  consequences.  But  how  can  a  gov- 
ernment which  publicly  patronizes,  sustains,  and  en- 
riches itself  by  lotteries  have  any  logic  in  contlemuing 
the  pastime  of  hazard  in  a  private  drawing-room  or  a 
private  club-house?  I  confess  I  cannot  see  how  they 
reconcile  both  courses.  A  government,  whatever  it  be, 
should  never  be  an  anomaly." 

"Lotteries  are  to  us  what  bull-fighting  is  to  Span- 
iards and  revolutions  are  to  the  French,"  said  Carlo 
Maremma.  "Every  nation  has  its  especial  craze.  The 
lottery  is  ours." 

"But  is  it  for  a  government  to  intensify  and  pandei 
to  and  j)rofit  by  a  national  insanity  ?"  said  Delia  Kocca, 
with  much  seriousness.  "  When  Rome  bent  to  the  yell 
of  Panem  et  Ci  recuses,  the  days  of  her  greatness  were 
numbered.  Besides,  the  Due  is  quite  right, — it  is  a 
ridiculous  anomaly  to  condemn  games  while  you  allow 
lotteries.  Great  harm  may  result  from  private  gam- 
bling,— greater  still  from  the  public  gaming-tables, — • 
but  the  evil  after  all  is  not  a  millionth  part  so  terrible 
as  the  evil  resulting  from  the  system  of  public  lotteries. 
The  persons  who  are  ruined  by  ordinary  gaming  are, 
after  all,  persons  who  would  certainly  be  ruined  hy 
some  vice  or  another.  The  compound  of  avarice  and 
excitement  which  makes  the  attraction  of  hazard  does 
not  allure  the  higher  kinds  of  character;  besides,  the 
vice  does  not  go  to  the  player;  the  player  goes  to  the 
vice.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  the  lottery  attacks  openly, 
and  tries  to  allure  in  very  despite  of  themselves,  the 
nuich  wider  multitude  that  is  the  very  sap  and  support 

V2 


134  ^^'  ^    WIXTKR   CITV. 

of  a  imtioii :  it  entices  the  people  themselves.  It  lures 
the  workman  to  throw  away  his  wage,  the  student  to 
spend  his  time  in  feverish  dreams,  the  simple  day- 
lahorer  to  consume  his  content  in  senseless  calculations 
that  often  bring  his  poor,  empty  brain  to  madness. 
The  lottery  assails  them  in  the  street,  is  carried  to 
them  in  their  homes,  drops  them  some  poor  prize  at 
first  to  chain  them  in  torment  forever  afterwards.  It 
changes  honesty  to  cunning,  peace  to  burning  desire, 
industry  to  a  perpetual  waiting  upon  chance,  manly 
effort  to  an  imbecile  abandonment  to  the  dictates  of 
signs  and  portents  and  the  expectancy  of  a  fortune 
which  never  comes.  High-born  gamblers  are  only  the 
topmost  leaves  of  the  tree  of  the  State ;  they  may  rot 
away  without  detriment  to  the  tree;  but  the  lottery 
lays  the  axe  to  the  very  trunk  and  root  of  it,  because 
it  demoralizes  the  people." 

Lady  Hilda  listened  and  watched  him  as  he  spoke, 
M'ith  a  grave  and  almost  tender  meditation  in  her  eyes, 
which  M.  de  St.  Louis  saw,  and,  seeing,  smiled. 

"Say  all  that  in  the  Chamber,  caro  mio,"  muttered 
Carlo  Maremma. 

"  I  would  go  to  the  Chambers  to  say  it,  or  to  worse 
places  even,  were  there  any  chance  it  would  be  attended 
to.  Madame  Mila,  have  I  been  so  unhappy  as  to  have 
offended  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  to])  leaf  that  may  rot !  I  was  never  told 
anything  so  rude  in  my  life, — from  you,  too !  the  very 
soul  of  ceremonious  courtesy." 

Delia  Rocca  made  peace  with  her  in  flowery  flattery. 

"  Well,  I  shall  play  baccarat  to-night  in  this  hotel, 
just  because  the  Prefect  has  been  so  odious  and  done 


IX  A    WIXTER    CITV.  1^,5 

that,"  said  Madame  Mila.  "  You  will  all  come  home 
with  me  after  the  Roubleskoif's  dinner?     Promise  !" 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Princess  Olga. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Lady  Featherleigh. 

"Of  course,"  said  everybody  else. 

"  And  if  the  gendarmes  come  in?" 

"We  will  shoot  them!" 

"No;  we  will  give  then^  champagne, — surer  and 
more  humane." 

"I  wish  the  Prefect  would  come  himself:  I  should 
like  to  tell  him  my  mind,"  continued  Madame  Mihi. 
"So  impudent  of  the  man  ! — when  all  the  Royal  Higii- 
iiesses  and  Grand  Dukes  and  Duchesses  in  Europe  only 
come  to  winter  cities  for  play.     He  must  know  that." 

"  My  dear  Mila,  how  you  do  put  yourself  out  about 
it!"  said  the  Lady  Hilda.  "Send  ten  thousand  francs 
to  the  public  charities:  you  may  play  all  night  long  in 
the  cafes  then." 

"  Madame,  j'ai  Thonneur  de  vous  saluer,"  murmured 
Delia  Rocca,  bending  low  before  her. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  him  and  left  the 
others  behind,  a  sudden  blankness  and  dullness  seemed 
to  fall  on  her:  she  had  never  felt  the  same  thing  before. 
Bored  she  had  often  been,  but  this  was  not  ennui,  it  was 
a  kind  of  loneliness :  it  was  as  if  all  about  her  grew 
gray  and  cold  and  stupid. 

More  ladies  came  in,  there  were  endless  laugliter  and 
chatter ;  Princess  Olga  wanted  some  tea,  and  had  it ; 
the  other  women  cracked  bonbons  with  their  little 
teeth  like  i)retty  squirrels  cracking  fir  cones;  they 
made  charming  groups  in  the  firelight  and  lam{)]ight: 
they  made  plans  for  a  hundred  diversions ;  they  were 


136  ^-v  '-i  \VL\Ti:ii  cirv. 

full  of  the  gayest  of  scandals ;  they  dissected  in  tna 
inost  merciless  manner  all  their  absent  friends;  they 
scolded  their  lovers  and  gave  them  a  thousand  contra- 
dictory orders ;  they  discussed  all  the  news  and  all  the 
topics  of  the  day,  and  arranged  for  dinner-parties,  and 
driving-parties,  and  costume  quadrilles,  and  bazaar- 
stalls,  and  boxes  at  the  theatre,  and  suppers  at  the 
cafes ;  and  agreed  that  everything  was  as  dull  as  ditch- 
water,  and  yet  that  they  never  had  a  minute  for  any- 
thing; and  the  Lady  Hilda,  with  the  jubilant  noise 
and  the  twittering  laughter  round  her,  thought  how 
silly  they  all  were,  and  what  a  nuisance  it  was  having 
a  day, — only  if  one  hadn't  a  day  it  was  worse  still, 
because  then  they  were  always  trying  to  run  in  at 
all  hours  on  every  day,  and  one  was  never  free  for  a 
moment. 

"Thank  goodness,  they  are  gone!"  she  said,  half 
aloud,  to  the  8axe  cups  and  the  Capo  di  Monte  children 
on  the  mantel-piece,  when  the  last  flutter  of  fur  and 
velvet  had  vanished  through  the  door,  and  the  last  of 
those  dearest  friends  and  born  foes  had  kissed  each 
other  and  separated. 

Left  alone,  she  stood  thinking,  by  the  fire,  with  all 
tie  lights  burning  behind  her  in  that  big,  empty  room. 
What  she  thought  was  a  very  humble  and  pensive 
thought  for  so  disdainful  a  lady.     It  was  only, — 

"  Is  it  myself?  or  only  the  money  ?" 

She  stood  some  time  there,  motionless,  her  hand  play- 
ing with  the  gold  girdle  as  his  hand  had  done;  her  face 
was  ])ale,  softened,  troubled. 

The  clock  among  the  Saxe  dogs  and  the  Capo  di 
Monte    little  figures   chimed    the   half-lipiir  after  six. 


7.V  A    WINTER    CITV.  137 

She  started  as  it  struck,  and  remembered  that  she  was» 
to  dine  at  eight  with  the  Princess  Roubleskotf, — a  big 
party  for  an  English  royalty  on  his  travels. 

"Anyhow,  it  would  be  of  no  use,"  she  said  to  her- 
self.    "  Even  if  I  did  wish  it,  it  could  never  be." 

And  she  was  angry  with  herself,  as  she  had  been  the 
night  before;  she  was  impatient  of  these  new  weak- 
nesses which  haunted  her.  Nevertheless  she  was  more 
particular  about  her  appearance  that  night  than  her 
maids  had  ever  known  her  be;  she  was  very  difficult 
to  satisfy ;  tried  and  discarded  four  wholly  new  confec- 
tions of  her  friend  Worth's,  miracles  of  invention  and 
of  costliness,  and  at  length  had  herself  dressed  quite 
sim{)ly  in  black  velvet,  only  relieved  by  all  her  dia- 
monds. 

"He  said  fair  women  should  always  wear  black," 
she  thought:  it  was  not  her  Magister  of  Paris  of  whom 
she  was  thinking  as  the  sayer  of  that  wise  phrase. 
And  then  again  she  was  angry  with  herself  for  remem- 
bering such  a  thing  and  attiring  herself  in  obedience 
to  it,  and  would  have  had  herself  undressed  again  only 
there  was  but  one  small  quarter  of  an  hour  in  which 
to  reach  the  Roubleskotf  villa,  a  palace  of  the  fairies 
four  miles  from  the  south  gate.  So  she  went  as  she 
was,  casting  a  dubious  impatient  glance  behind  her  at 
the  mirrors. 

"I  look  well,"  she  thought,  with  a  smile,  and  her 
rontent  returned. 

She  knew  that  he  would  be  present  at  the  dinner. 

There  is  no  escaping  destiny  in  Floralia:  people  meet 

too  often. 

The  dinner  disappointed  her. 

12* 


138  ly   A    ]\J\TKR    CITV. 

She  thought  it  very  lonp;  and  very  stupid.  She  sat 
ootwecn  the  Grand  Dui<e  of  Rittersbiihn  and  the  Envoy 
of  all  the  Russias,  and  Delia  Rocca  was  not  placed 
within  her  sight ;  and  after  the  dinner  the  young 
English  prince  would  talk  to  no  one  but  herself,  de- 
lightedly recalling  to  her  how  often  she  had  bowled  his 
wickets  down  when  they  had  been  young  children  play- 
ing on  the  lawns  at  Osborne.  She  felt  disloyally  thank- 
less for  his  preference.  He  monopolized  her.  And  as 
the  rooms  filled  with  the  crowd  of  the  reception  she 
merely  saw  the  delicate  dark  head  of  Delia  Rocca  afar 
off,  bent  down  in  eager  and  possibly  tender  conversa- 
tion with  his  beautiful  country-woman,  the  Duchess 
Medici-Malatesta.      She  felt  angered  and  impatient. 

If  she  had  sat  alone  and  neglected,  as  less  lovely 
women  often  do,  instead  of  being  monopolized  by  a 
prince,  with  twenty  other  men  sighing  to  take  his  place 
when  etiquette  should  permit  them,  she  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  ill-content. 

Kever  in  all  her  life  had  it  befallen  her  to  think 
angrily  of  another  woman's  beauty;  and  now  she  caught 
herself  irritatedly  conning,  across  the  width  of  the 
room,  the  classic  profile  and  the  immense  jewel-like 
eyes  of  the  Malatesta  Semiramis.  Never  in  all  her  life 
had  it  happened  to  her  to  miss  any  one  thing  that  she 
desired,  and  now  a  strange  sense  of  loneliness  and  emj)- 
tiness  came  upon  her,  unreasoned  and  unreasoning;  and 
she  had  such  an  impatience  and  contempt  of  herself  too 
all  the  while! — that  was  the  most  bitter  part  of  it. 

After  all,  it  was  too  absurd 

As  soon  as  the  departure  of  the  royal  guests  ])er- 
mitted  any  one  to  leave,  she  went  away,  contemptuous, 


i.\  A  \vL\TF.i:  cm.  ];5t) 

and  ill  at  ease;  half  ignorant  of  what  moved  her,  and 
half  nn\villin<>:  to  probe  her  own  emotions  further. 

"  Plus  on  est  fou,  plus  on  rit,"  she  murmured  to  her 
pillow  two  hours  later,  with  irritable  disdain,  as  she 
heard  Mme.  Mila  and  her  troop  noisily  j)assing-  her 
door  as  they  returned  to  their  baccarat,  which  was  to 
be  doubly  delightful  because  of  the  Prefect's  interdict. 

"  I  wish  I  liad  been  born  an  idiot !"  thought  the 
Lady  Hilda, — as  indeed,  any  one  must  do  who  finds 
himself  burdened  with  aching  brains  in  this  best  of  all 
possible  worlds. 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  were  right,"  said  the  Due 
de  St.  Louis,  driving  back  into  the  town  with  Delia 
Rocca  that  night.  "  Perhaps  you  were  right.  Miladi 
is  most  lovely,  most  exquisite,  most  perfect.  But  she 
has  caprices, — there  is  no  denying  that  she  has  caprices 
and  extravagancies  which  would  ruin  any  one  short 
of  the  despotic  sovereign  of  a  very  wealthy  nation." 

The  Due  was  a  very  wise  man,  and  knew  that  the 
escalier  d^robe  is  the  only  way  that  leads  in  conversation 
to  any  direct  information.  Their  demeanor  had  puzzled 
him,  and  he  spoke  accordingly  with  shrewd  design. 

Delia  Rocca  heard  him  with  a  little  annoyance. 

"  She  has  not  more  caprices  than  other  women  that 
I  know  of,"  he  answered.  "  Her  faults  are  the  faults 
rather  of  her  monde  than  of  herself." 

"  But  she  has  adopted  them  Avith  much  affection !" 

*'They  are  habits, — hardly  more." 

"And  you  were  correct  too  in  your  diagnosis  when 
you  saw  her  first,"  continued  the  Due,  pitilessly.  "To 
me  she  is  most  amiable  always ;  but  to  the  generality  of 
people  it  must  be  admitted  that  she  is  not  so  amiable." 


140  ^^'  ^    WINTER    CITY. 

"The  amiability  of  most  women,"  re])lied  Delia 
Rocca,  "  is  nothing  more  than  that  insatiate  passion 
for  admiration  which  makes  them  show  their  persons 
almost  nude  at  Trouville,  and  co})y  the  ways  and  man- 
ners of  femmcs  entretcnues  in  the  endeavor  to  rival  such 
with  us.  If  they  wish  to  be  decent,  they  do  not  dare 
to  be ;  they  must  be  popular  and  chic  before  all." 

"  You  are  severe,  but  perhaps  you  are  right.  Miladi 
is  certainly  above  all  such  vulgarities.  Indeed,  she  is 
only  a  little  too  much  above  everything " 

"  It  is  better  than  to  be  below  everything, — even  be- 
low our  respect, — as  most  of  our  great  ladies  are." 

"Certainly.     Still,  she  is  a  little — a  little  selfish." 

"  How  should  she  be  otherwise  ?  She  is  quite  alone, 
— she  has  no  one  to  care  for " 

"  Most  women  make  something  to  care  for ;  she  has 
many  family  ties,  if  she  cared  for  tliem, — but  she  does 
not.  No ;  she  is  beautiful,  charming,  grande  dame  en 
tout, — but  I  begin  to  think  that  it  is  well  for  the  peace 
of  mankind  that  she  remains  so  invulnerable.  She 
would  probably  make  any  man  who  loved  her  very 
unhappy  if  she  married  him." 

"  If  he  were  a  weak  man,  not  otherwise." 

"Pouf !  Do  you  think  any  man  would  ever  have 
control  over  her  f 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  she  would  never  care  for  any 
man  who  had  not." 

"  He  would  be  a  very  bold  person,"  murmured  the 
Due.  "  However,  I  am  very  glad  that  you  think  monj 
highly  of  her.  You  know,  mon  cher,  what  always  was 
my  opinion  as  to  yourself " 

Delia  Rocca  colored,  and  saw  too  late  that  his  com- 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  141 

panion  had  forced  his  card  from  liis  hands  In  the  most 
adroit  manner.  He  busied  himself  with  lighting  a 
cigar. 

"  For  myself,"  he  said,  coldly,  "  I  can  have  no  object 
in  what  I  say.  My  own  poverty  is  barrier  sufficient. 
But  I  should  be  unjust  not  to  admit  what  I  think  of  her 
as  a  friend.  I  believe  that  the  habits  of  the  world  are 
not  so  strong  with  her  that  they  can  satisfy  her ;  and  I 
believe  that  with  her  affections  touched,  with  tenderer 
ties  than  she  has  ever  known,  Avith  a  home,  with  chil- 
dren, with  a  woman's  natural  life,  in  fact,  she  would 
be  a  much  happier  and  very  different  person.  Mais 
tout  cela  ne  me  regarde  pas." 

The  Due  glanced  at  him  and  laun;hed  softlv. 

"Ca  vous  regarde  de  bleu  pres — bon  succes  et  bon 
soir !"  he  said,  as  he  got  out  of  the  carriage  at  his  hotel. 

"  I  told  him  to  marry  her,"  he  thought ;  "  but  if  he 
expects  to  convert  her  too,  he  must  be  the  boldest  and 
most  sanguine  man  in  Europe." 

Lady  Hilda  made  up  her  mind  that  she  was  tired  of 
Floralia,  as  she  meditated  over  her  chocolate  the  next 
morning,  after  a  night  w^hich  chloral  had  made  pretty 
passable,  only  the  baccarat  people  had  screamed  so  loudly 
with  laughter  on  the  other  side  of  the  corridor  that  they 
had  awakened  her  once  or  twice.  Yes,  she  certainly  was 
tired  of  it.  If  one  did  take  the  trouble  to  go  into  so- 
ciety one  might  as  well  do  it  all  for  a  big  world  and  not 
a  little  one.  It  was  utter  nonsense  about  her  lungs  in 
Paris.  She  would  go  back.  She  would  telegraph  her 
return  to  Hubert. 

Hubert  was  her  maitre-d'hotel. 

She  did  telegraph,  and  told  herself  that  fdie  wouhl 


142  Jy  ^    WINTER    CI  TV. 

find  immense  interest  in  the  fresco  paintings  which  were 
being  executed  in  the  ball-room  of  that  very  exquisite 
hotel  "entre  cour  et  jardin,"  which  she  had  deserted  in 
Paris,  and  in  making  nooks  and  corners  in  her  already 
overfilled  tables  and  cabinets  for  the  tazze  and  bacini 
and  ivories  and  goldsmith's  work  she  had  collected  in 
the  last  two  months;  and  decided  that  the  wall-decora- 
tions of  the  drawing-rooms,  which  were  of  rose  satin 
with  Louis  Quinze  paneling,  were  all  very  barbarous, 
utterly  incorrect,  and  should  never  have  been  borne 
with  so  long,  and  should  be  altered  at  once ;  the  palest 
amber  satin  was  the  only  possible  thing,  with  silver 
mirrors  and  silver  cornices,  and  not  a  touch  of  gilding 
anywhere ;  the  idea  had  occurred  to  her  before  a  pic- 
ture in  the  galleries,  where  a  silver  casket  was  painted 
against  an  amber  curtain ;  she  would  have  it  done 
immediately,  and  she  would  go  back  to  Paris  and  have 
her  old  Thursday  evenings  again. 

After  all,  Paris  was  the  only  place  worth  living  in, 
and  doctors  were  always  alarmists, — old  women, — 
everything  that  was  stupid,  unless  you  were  very  very 
ill,  when  they  did  seem  to  dilate  into  demi-gods,  because 
of  course  you  were  weakened  with  morphine  and  other 
stuff  and  did  not  want  to  die;  though  you  ought  to 
wan!  to  die,  being  a  Christian,  if  you  were  in  the  very 
least  degree  consistent ;  since  if  you  were  quite  sure 
that  the  next  world  would  be  so  very  much  better  than 
this  it  was  utterly  illogical  to  be  afraid  of  going  to  it : 
but  then  were  you  quite  sure  ? 

The  Lady  Hilda  sighed.  This  dreadful  age,  whicli 
has  produced  communists,  petroleuses,  and  liberal  think- 
ers, had  communicated  its  vague  restlessness  even  to  her; 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  143 

although  she  belonged  to  that  higher  region  where  no- 
body ever  thinks  at  all,  and  everybody  is  more  or  less 
devout  in  seeming  at  any  rate,  because  disbelief  is  vul- 
gar, and  religion  is  an  "  affaire  des  moeurs,"  like  decency, 
still  the  subtle  philosophies  and  sad  negations  which 
have  always  been  afloat  in  the  air  since  Voltaire  set 
them  flying  had  affected  her  slightly. 

She  was  a  true  believer,  just  as  she  was  a  well-dressed 
woman,  and  had  her  creeds  just  as  she  had  her  batli  in 
the  morning,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Still,  when  she  did  come  to  think  of  it,  she  was  not 
so  very  sure.  There  was  another  world,  and  saints  and 
angels  and  eternity,  yes,  of  course ;  but  how  on  earth 
would  all  those  baccarat  people  ever  fit  into  it?  Who 
could  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  conceive  Madame 
Mila  and  Maurice  des  Gommeux  in  a  spiritual  existence 
around  the  throne  of  Deity? 

And  as  for  punishment  and  torment  and  all  that 
other  side  of  futurity,  who  could  even  think  of  the 
mildest  purgatory  as  suitable  to  those  poor  flibberti- 
gibbit  inanities  who  broke  the  seventh  commandment 
as  gayly  as  a  child  breaks  his  India  rubber  ball,  and 
were  as  incapable  of  passion  and  crime  as  they  were 
incapable  of  heroism  and  virtue? 

There  might  be  paradise  for  virtue,  and  hell  for 
crime,  but  what  in  the  name  of  the  universe  was  to  be 
done  with  creatures  that  were  only  all  Folly?  Perhaps 
they  would  be  always  flying  about,  like  the  souls  Virgil 
speaks  of,  "  suspense  ad  ventos,"  to  purify  themselves ; 
as  the  sails  of  a  ship  spread  out  to  dry.  The  Huron 
Indians  pray  to  the  souls  of  the  fish  they  catch  ;  well, 
why  not?  a  fish  has  a  soul  if  Modern  Society  has  one; 


Ill  ^^V  A    WlSTKIl    CITV. 

one  coiikl  conceive  a  fish  going  softly  tlirongh  sliining 
waters  forever  and  forever  in  the  ecstasy  of  motion ; 
but  who  could  conceive  Modern  Society  in  the  spheres? 

Wandering  thus  from  her  drawing-room  furniture 
to  problems  of  eternity,  and  only  succeeding  in  making 
herself  unsettled  and  uncomfortable,  the  Lady  Hilda, 
out  of  tune  with  everything,  put  off  her  cashmere 
dressing-gown,  had  herself  wrapped  in  her  sables,  and 
thought  she  w^ould  go  out;  it  w^as  just  twelve  o'clock. 

]  .ooking  out  of  the  window,  she  saw  a  lady,  all  sables 
like  herself,  going  also  out  of  the  hotel  to  a  coupe,  the 
image  of  her  own. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  she  asked  of  her  favorite  maid. 

''  That  is  Mdlle.  Lea,  Miladi,"  said  the  maid.  ''  She 
came  last  night.     She  has  the  suite  above," 

"  How  dare  you  mention  her?"  said  the  Lady  Hilda. 

The  little  accident  filled  up  the  measure  of  her  dis- 
gust. Mdlle.  Jenny  Lea  was  a  young  lady  who  had 
seduced  the  affections  of  an  emperor,  three  archdukes, 
and  an  untold  number  of  the  nobility  of  all  nations ; 
she  was  utterly  uneducated,  inconceivably  coarse,  and 
had  first  emerge  1  from  a  small  drinking-shop  in  the 
dens  of  WhiteCiiapel ;  she  was  the  rage  of  the  moment, 
having  got  a  needy  literary  hack  to  write  her  auto- 
biography, which  she  published  in  her  own  name,  as 
*'  Aventures  d'une  Anglaise ;"  the  book  liad  no 
decency,  and  as  little  wit,  but  it  professed  to  show  up 
the  scandals  of  a  great  court,  and  it  made  some  great 
men  ridiculous  and  worse,  so  eighty  thousand  copies  of 
it  had  been  sold  over  Europe,  and  great  ladies  leaned 
from  their  carriages  eager  to  see  Mdlle.  Jenny  Lea  pass 
by  them. 


IN  A    WINTER   CITF.  I45 

Mdllc.  Jenny  Lea,  indeed,  having  put  the  finishing- 
stroke  to  her  popularity  by  immense  debts  and  a  forced 
sale  of  her  effects  in  Paris,  Avas  the  sensation  of  the 
liour,  only  sharing  public  attention  with  the  Pere 
Hilarion,  a  young  and  passionately  earnest  Dominican, 
who  was  making  a  crusade  against  the  world,  in  a  noble 
and  entirely  vain  fervor,  from  the  pulpits  of  all  the 
greatest  churches  on  the  Continent.  It  was  "  the  thing" 
to  go  and  hear  Pere  Hilarion,  weep  with  him  and  pray 
with  him,  and  then,  coming  out  of  the  church  doors, 
to  read  Jenny  Lea  and  talk  of  her.  It  is  by  these 
admirable  mixtures  that  Society  manages  to  keep  itself 
alive. 

The  Pere  Hilarion  was  breaking  his  great  heart  over 
the  vileness  and  the  hopelessness  of  it  all,  as  any  one 
who  has  any  soul  in  him  must  be  disposed  to  do.  But 
to  Society  the  Pere  Hilarion  was  only  a  sort  of  mental 
liqueur,  as  Jenny  Lea  was  an  American  "  pick-me-up:" 
that  was  all.  Society  took  them  Indifferently,  one  after 
the  other.  Of  the  two,  of  course  It  preferred  Jenny 
Lea. 

The  Lady  Hilda  in  supreme  disgust  went  out  in  her 
sables,  as  Mdlle.  Jenny  Lea  in  hers  drove  from  the 
door. 

"  What    good    things   sumptuary  laws    must    have 

been ! "  she  thought.     "  If  such  creatures  had  to  dress 

all  in  yellow,  now,  as  I  think  they  had  once  (or  was  it 

Jews  ?),  who  would  talk  of  them,  who  would  look  at 

them,  who  would  lose  money  about  them  ?     Not  a  soul. 

And   to  think   that  there  have  been  eighty  thousand 

peo])le  who  have  bought  her  book  ! " 

"  Has  anything  offended  you,  madame  ?     Who  or 
G  13  K 


]46       '  ^^'  ^1  WINTER  ciry. 

what  is  so  unhappy?"  said  the  voice  of  Delia  Kocca, 
as  she  crossed  the  pavement  of  the  court  between  the 
lines  of  bowing  hotel  functionaries,  who  had  bent  their 
spines  double  in  just  the  same  way  to  Mdlle.  L^a  three 
minutes  previously. 

"Nothing  in  especial,"  she  answered  him,  coldly. 
'*  Those  baccarat  people  kept  me  awake  half  the  night; 
I  wish  the  gendarmes  had  interfered.  What  wretched 
Aveather  it  is !" 

"  It  is  a  little  cold ;  but  it  is  very  bright,"  said  Delia 
Rocca,  in  some  surprise,  for  the  day,  indeed,  was  mag- 
nificent and  seasonable.  "  I  was  coming  in  the  hoj)e 
that  I  might  be  admitted,  though  I  know  it  is  too  early, 
and  not  your  day,  and  everything  that  it  ought  not  to 
be.  But  I  was  so  unfortunate  last  night ;  you  were  so 
monopolized " 

She  deigned  to  smile  a  little,  but  she  continued  to 
move  to  her  brougham. 

"  Your  climate  is  the  very  Harpagon  of  climates.  I 
have  not  seen  one  warm  day  yet.  I  am  thinking  of 
returning  to  Paris." 

He  grew  very  pale. 

"  Is  not  that  very  sudden?"  he  asked  her;  there  was 
a  great  change  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  no ;  I  have  my  house  there,  as  you  know,  and 
Monsieur  Odissot  is  painting  the  ball-room  in  frescoes. 
X  have  quite  a  new  idea  for  my  drawing-rooms,  too; 
after  all,  furnishing  is  one  of  the  fine  arts;  do  you  like 
that  young  Odissot's  talent?  His  drawing  is  perfec- 
tion; he  was  a  pupil  of  Hippolyte  Flandriu.  Good- 
morning." 

She  was    in   her   coupe   by   this  time,  and  he  Avas 


IN  A    WINTER    cm'.  147 

obliged  to  close  the  door  on  her;  but  he  kejjc  his  hand 
upon  it. 

"Since  you  are  leaving  us  so  soon  and  so  cruelly, 
madame,  would  you  honor  my  own  old  chapel  frescoes 
as  you  promised  ? — they  might  give  you  some  ideas  for 
your  ball-room." 

Lady  Hilda  deigned  to  smile  fairly  and  fully  this 
time. 

"  Is  that  a  satire  or  a  profanity, — or  both  together?" 

"  It  is  jealousy  of  Camille  Odissot !  I  will  go  to 
Paris  and  paint  your  frescoes,  madame,  if  you  will  let 
me ;  I  can  paint  in  fresco  and  in  distemper ;  I  was  a 
student  in  the  Academy  of  San  Luca  in  my  time." 

His  words  were  light,  and  his  manner  also,  but  his 
eyes  had  an  expression  that  made  the  Lady  Hilda 
color  a  little  and  look  out  of  the  other  window  of  her 
coupe. 

"  I  must  first  call  upon  Olga ;  I  have  promised,"  she 
answered,  irrelevantly.  "  But  I  will  join  you  at  your 
palace  in  an  hour ;  perhaps  she  will  come  with  me ;  T 
should  not  like  to  leave,  certainly,  without  having  seen 
your  chapel.     Au  revoir." 

"  If  you  do  leave,  madame,  I  follow ! — to  paint  the 
ball-room." 

He  shut  the  carriage  door,  and  stood  bareheaded  in 
the  wintry  wind  as  the  impatient  horses  dashed  away. 
When  it  had  disappeared  he  put  his  hat  on,  lighted  a 
cigar,  and  strolled  to  his  own  house. 

"She  will  not  go  to  Paris,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  knew  women  well. 

In  an  hour  and  a  half  she  arrived  at  his  own  gates, 
bringing  the  Princess  Olga  with  her. 


X48  ^^^'  ^  nixTER  cirr. 

She  saw  the  grand  old  garden,  the  mighty  staircases, 
tlie  courts  that  once  hekl  troops  of  armed  men ;  she 
saw  his  own  rooms,  with  their  tapestries  that  Flemish 
John  Rosts  had  liad  the  doing  of  so  many  centuries 
before;  she  saw  the  exquisite  dim  silent  chapel,  whose 
walls,  painted  by  the  Memmi  in  one  portion  and  con- 
tinued by  Masaccio,  were  among  the  famous  things 
of  the  city.  She  Avas  moved  and  saddened ;  softened 
too;  after  all,  the  decay  of  a  great  race  has  an  un- 
utterable pathos  ;  it  will  touch  even  a  vulgar  mind  ; 
she,  arrogant  and  fastidious  as  to  birth,  as  though  she 
had  been  born  before  the  '89,  was  touched  by  it  to  the 
core. 

She  had  heard,  too,  of  how  he  lived  ;  Avithout  debt, 
yet  with  dignity,  Avith  the  utmost  simplicity  and  Avith- 
out  reproach ;  there  Avas  something  in  his  fortunes 
which  seemed  to  her  worthier  than  all  distinction  and 
success,  something  that  stirred  that  more  poetic  side  of 
her  nature  Avhich  the  world  had  never  allowed  to  aAvake, 
but  Avhich  had  been  born  Avith  her  nevertheless.  She 
was  serious  and  dreaming  as  she  lingered  in  the  beau- 
tiful old  chapel,  under  Avhose  mosaic  pavement  there 
lay  the  dust  of  so  many  generations  of  his  race.  He 
noticed  her  silence,  and  thought  to  himself, — 

"  Perhaps  she  is  thinking  hoAV  base  it  is  in  a  man  as 
poor  as  I  to  seek  a  woman  so  rich  as  herself;"  but  she 
Avas  not  thinking  that  at  all  as  she  swept  on  in  her 
sables,  with  her  delicate  cheeks  like  the  lovely  Xiphetos 
rose  against  the  darkness  of  the  fur. 

That  immortality  Avhich  she  had  been  doubting  in 
the  morning  did  not  seem  so  absurdly  impossible  here. 
There  Avas  religion  in  the  place,  a  different  one  to  Avhat 


7.V  A    WliXTEIi    CITY.  149 

she  had  known  kneeling  at  the  messe  des  jparesseiix  in 
the  Madeleine;  the  sort  of  religion  that  a  woman  only 
becomes  aware  of  when  she  loves. 

She  started  and  seemed  to  wake  from  a  dream  when 
Princess  Olga  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  go.  Prin- 
cess Olga  was  a  person  of  innumerable  engagements, 
who  was  always  racing  after  half  an  hour  without  ever 
catching  it,  like  the  Minister-Duke  of  Newcastle,  and 
like  ninety-nine  people  out  of  every  hundred  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  There  was  some  bric-a-brac  the 
princess  wanted  somebody  to  cheapen  for  her ;  she  bade 
him  come  and  do  it;  he  complied  willingly  enough. 
They  went  all  three  to  that  bric-a-brac  shop,  and  thence 
to  another,  and  yet  another.  Then  Princess  Olga,  who 
was  used  to  a  more  brilliant  part  than  that  of  the 
"  terza  incommoda,"  left  them  to  themselves  over  the 
faience  and  marqueterie. 

Lady  Hilda,  who,  despite  all  her  fashion,  liked  walk- 
ing like  every  healthy  woman,  dismissed  her  horses, 
and  walked  the  length  of  the  river-street,  he  with  her. 
People  meeting  them  began  to  make  conjectures,  and 
bets,  harder  than  ever;  and  Italian  ladies,  looking  out 
of  their  carriage  windows,  wondered  for  the  five-mil- 
lionth time  at  the  freedom  of  Englishwomen, — as  indeed 
]  talian  ladies  have  good  cause  to  do  in  far  more  repre- 
hensible liberties. 

They  walked  down  to  the  park  and  back  again.  It 
was  growing  dusk.  She  went  home  to  her  hotel,  and 
let  him  enter  Avith  her,  and  had  some  tea  by  the  fire- 
light ;  all  the  while  he  made  love  to  her  with  eyes  and 
gesture  and  word,  as  only  an  Italian  can,  and  she 
avoided  explicit  declaration  of  it  and  direct  need  to 

13* 


150  J'-v  A  WjyrKii  citv. 

roj)ly  to  it,  with  all  the  consummate  tact  that  ten  years' 
practice  in  such  positions  had  polished  in  her. 

It  was  a  charming  pastime, — were  it  nothing  more 
It  was  quite  a  pity  when  Madame  Mila  entered  unsus- 
jiecting,  and  full  of  new  wrongs  in  the  matter  of  the 
INIuscadins  and  fresh  gossip  concerning  some  forty 
people's  marriages,  divorces,  debts,  ignominies,  and  in- 
famies. It  is  fortunate  that  there  are  so  many  wicked 
people  in  Society ;  for  if  there  were  not,  what  would 
the  good  people  have  to  talk  about?  they  would  die  of 
paralysis  of  the  tongue. 

"You  will  not  leave  us  for  Paris,  yet?"  he  mur- 
mured, as  he  rose,  with  a  sigh,  only  heard  by  her  ear. 

She  smiled,  and  balanced  a  Devoniensis  tea-rose  idly 
in  her  hands. 

"Not  just  yet,  if  your  weather  prove  better." 

He  drew  the  tea-rose  away  from  her  tingers  unseen 
even  by  the  quick,  marmoset  eyes  of  little  INIadame 
Mila,  who  as  it  chanced  was  busied  making  herself  a 
cup  of  tea.     She  let  it  go. 

"You  should  have  seen  all  the  men  looking:  after 
that  horrible  Lea,"  said  Madame  Mila,  drinking  her 
compound  of  cream  and  sugar,  as  the  door  closed  on 
him.  "They  have  eyes  for  nothing  else,  I  do  think; 
and  only  fancy  her  having  the  very  suite  above  mine — it 
is  atrocious !  They  say  the  things  at  her  sale  fetched  fab- 
ulous sums.  Little  pomatum  and  rouge  pots,  five  hun- 
dred francs  each !  They  say  she  has  fixed  her  mind  on 
young  Sant'  Andrea  here;  I  suppose  she  has  heard  he 
is  enormously  rich.  Oh,  did  you  know  Gwendolen 
Doncaster  has  come?  She  has  lost  all  her  money  at 
Monte  Carlo,  and  she  has  dyed  her  hair  a  nice  straw 


IN  A    WIXTER    CITY.  151 

color;  she  looks  fifteen  years  younger,  I  do  assure  you. 
Don  is  shooting  in  Dahnatia:  of  course  she  abuses  him, 
— poor  old  Don !  I  wonder  how  we  should  have  got 
on  if  he  had  married  me,  as  he  wanted.  Gwen  told 
me  Lord  Derbyshire  has  run  off  with  Mrs.  AYheel- 
skaitte — what  he  Cfmsee  in  her!  and  those  open  scandals 
are  so  stupid,  where  is  the  use  of  them  ?  Surely  you 
can  do  what  you  like  without  calling  all  the  world  in  to 
see  you  doing  it.  When  a  woman  has  an  easy  husband 
she  never  need  compromise  herself,  and  Wheelskaitte 
certainly  always  was  that.  Oh,  you  never  would  know 
them,  I  remember,  because  they  were  new  people ;  she 
was  an  odious  creature,  and  very  ugly,  but  they  gave 
very  good  parties  in  London,  and  their  cottage  was  as 
nice  a  one  as  you  could  go  to  for  Ascot.  You  used  to 
like  little  Wroxeter,  did  not  you?  he  was  such  a  pretty 
boy :  he  has  just  left  Eton,  and  he  is  wild  to  marry  a 
girl  out  of  a  music-hall,  so  Gwen  says.  These  crea- 
tures get  all  the  good  marriages  nowadays  : — and  two 
liundred  new  debutantes  waiting  for  the  first  Drawing- 
room  this  month!  Have  you  seen  the  new  book,  'Con- 
fessions d'un  Feu-Follet'?  Maurice  has  just  brought 
it  to  me.  It  is  rivaling  Jenny  Lea;  and  they  say  it  is 
worse, — quite  unmentionable ;  everybody  is  talking 
about  it.  It  was  out  last  week,  and  they  have  sold 
five  editions.  The  man  called  Bistrim  in  it  is  Bis- 
marck. No;  I  don't  know  that  it  is  witty.  I  don't 
think  things  are  witty  nowadays.  It  is  horrible  and 
infect;  but  you  can't  put  it  down  till  you've  done  it. 
Old  Lady  IVIanlever  is  dying  at  the  Pace  Hotel  here, 
— of  undigested  scandal,  Featherleigh  says ;  but  I 
believe  it's  gastritis.      What  a  nasty  old  woman  she 


152  !^'  A    WINTER    CITV. 

has  always  been!  I  liave  just  left  a  card  with  in- 
quiries and  regrets;  I  do  hope  she  won't  get  better.  1 
won  ever  so  much  at  play  last  night.  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  so;  I  bought  that  rocaille  necklace  on  the  Jewelers' 
Bridge ;  it  was  only  six  thousand  francs,  and  it  really 
did  belong  to  the  Comtesse  d'Albanv.  It's  very  pretty, 
too " 

So  Madame  Mila  discoursed,  greatly  to  her  own  satis- 
faction. She  loved  so  much  to  hear  her  own  tono-ue, 
that  she  always  chose  the  stupidest  and  silliest  of  her 
lovers  for  her  chief  favors:  a  clever  man  had  always 
ideas  of  his  own,  and  was  sure  to  want  to  express  them 
sometime  or  another.  All  she  desired  were  listeners 
and  echoes.  Discussion  may  be  the  salt  of  life  to  a  few, 
but  listeners  and  echoes  are  the  bonbons  and  cigarettes 
that  no  woman  can  do  without. 

The  Lady  Hilda,  sitting  looking  into  the  fire,  with 
her  eyes  nearly  closed,  murmured  yes,  and  no,  and  in- 
deed, in  the  proper  places,  and  let  her  run  on,  hearing 
not  one  word.  Those  fingers  which  had  entangled  them- 
selves  so  softly  with  her  own  withdrawing  the  tea-rose, 
had  left  a  magnetic  thrill  upon  her, — a  dreamy,  lulling 
pleasure. 

That  evening  the  good  Hubert  received  a  second  tele- 
gram contradicting  the  first  which  had  announced  his 
mistress's  return,  and  putting  oif  that  return  indefinitely. 
The  good  Hubert,  who  was  driving  her  best  horse.«, 
drinking  her  best  wines,  drawing  large  checks  for  ac- 
counts never  examined,  and  generally  enjoying  his  win- 
ter, was  much  relieved,  and  hastened  to  communicate 
the  happy  change  to  Monsieur  Camille  Odissot,  whom 
the  first  telegram  had  also  cast  into  great  consternation, 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  153 

since  that  clever  but  idle  young  gentleman,  having  been 
prepaid  half  the  sum  agreed  on  for  the  fresco-painting, 
had  been  spending  it  joyously  after  the  tastes  of  young 
artists,  assisted  by  a  pretty  brown  actress,  of  the  Fclics 
Marigny,  and  had  not  at  that  moment  even  begun  to 
touch  the  walls  and  the  ceiling  of  the  ball-room  confided 
to  his  genius. 

"But  you  had  better  begin,  though  she  is  not  coming 
back,"  said  the  good  Hubert,  surveying  the  blank  waste 
of  prepared  plaster.  "INIiladi  is  not  often  out  of  tem- 
per, but  when  she  is — ouf !  I  would  as  soon  serve  a 
Russian.  Better  begin;  paint  your  best,  because  she 
knows, — Miladi  knows,  and  she  is  hard  to  please  in 
those  things.  Not  but  what  I  dare  say  as  soon  as  you 
have  done  it  all  she  will  take  it  into  her  head  that  it 
looks  too  cold,  or  looks  too  warm,  or  will  not  compose 
well,  or  something  or  other,  and  will  cover  it  all  up 
with  silk  and  satin.  But  that  will  not  matter  to 
you." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Monsieur  Camille,  who,  though 
he  had  been  a  pupil  of  Flandrin,  had  learned  nothing 
of  that  true  master's  conscientiousness  in  art,  but  was 
a  clever  young  man  of  a  new  generation,  who  drew 
beautifully,  as  mechanically  as  a  tailor  stitches  beauti- 
fully, and  was  of  the  very  wise  opinion  that  money  was 
everything. 


151  Jy  A    WINTER    CITY. 


CHAPTER    VIll. 

The  Postlche  ball  came  off,  and  was  a  brilliant  suc- 
cess. Madame  Mila  announced  the  next  morning  when 
she  got  up  that  she  had  never  enjoyed  anything  better, 
— not  even  at  the  Tuileries. 

"  And  the  hostess  ?"  said  Lady  Hilda. 

"  I  didn't  even  see  her,  thank  goodness,"  said  Ma- 
dame Mila,  frankly.  "  I  went  late,  you  know,  and 
she'd  been  standing  at  the  door  four  hours,  and  had 
got  tired,  and  had  gone  oif  duty  into  the  crowd  some- 
where. Of  course  it  wasn't  my  business  to  go  and  look 
for  her." 

"  Of  course  not ;  but  you  brought  ofi'  your  cotillon 
things?" 

"  Yes.  There  they  are,"  said  Madame  INIila,  uncon- 
scious of  any  satire.  "  I  never  saw  such  luxe, — no, 
not  even  in  the  dear  old  Emperor's  time:  the  things 
everybody  got  must  have  cost  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  francs.  Certainly  little  Dickie  managed  it  beauti- 
fully.    He  ordered  the  whole  affair,  you  know." 

"  Little  Dickie,  or  anybody  else,  could  float  Medea 
lierself  in  society  if  she  would  brew  cotillon  toys  of 
a  new  sort  in  her  caldron,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda. 

"Medea?"  said  Madame  Mila,  who  knew  about  her 
because  she  had  seen  Ristori  so  often.  "  Poor  thing  ! 
it  was  that  horrid  Jason  that  deserved  to  be  put  out  of 
society,  only  men  never  do  get  put  out  of  it  for  any- 
thing they  do;  I  don't  know  how  it  is, — we  cut  no 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  155 

end  of  women,  but  we  never  cut  a  man.  AVell,  I  as- 
sure you,  my  dear,  the  ball  was  charming, — charming, 
tjjough  you  do  look  so  contemptuous.  We  had  all  our 
own  [>eople,  and  saw  nobody  else,  all  night.  I  don't 
think  I  need  bow  to  the  woman,  do  you?  I'm  not 
supposed  to  have  seen  her,  though  I  do  know  her  by 
sight,  a  little  podgy  sunburnt-looking  fat  creature,  with 
liveries  for  all  the  world  like  what  the  sheriffs  have  in 
Enoland  at  assize-time.  No  :  I'm  sure  I  needn't  bow 
to  her.     I  told  Dickie  beforehand  I  shouldn't." 

"  No  doubt  Dickie  was  delighted  to  have  you  on  any 
terms." 

"  Of  course ;  and  I'll  send  a  card  to-day,"  said  Ma- 
dame Mila,  with  the  magnanimous  air  of  one  who  does 
a  very  noble  thing. 

From  that  time  thenceforward  she  would  forget  the 
Joshua  R.  Postiches  and  everything  concerning  them 
as  absolutely  as  if  she  had  never  heard  anything  about 
them;  the  woman's  second  ball,  if  she  gave  one,  would 
be  nothing  new,  and  no  sort  of  fun  whatever. 

"  You're  always  at  me  about  Maurice,"  she  said, 
pursuing  her  own  ideas.  "Look  at  Olga  with  Carlo 
Maremma ! — she  did  make  him  go  last  night,  and  he 
was  the  only  Italian  there.  You  talk  of  Maurice: 
Olga  is  twice  as  careless  as  I  am " 

"Olga  is  my  friend;  don't  discuss  her,  please." 

"  Oh,  that's  very  fine, — when  you  are  always  finding 
fault  with  me  about  Maurice !" 

"I  should  not  let  any  third  ])crson  blame  you." 

"  You  are  very  strange,  Hilda,"  said  Madame  Mila, 
eying  her  with  a  curious  wonder,  and  ruffling  herself 
up  in  her  embroidered  pink  cashmere  dressing-gown, 


]-,n  AV  A    WINTER    CITY. 

as  if  she  were  a  little  bird  in  the  heart  of  a  big  rose. 
"  Why  should  you  defend  people  behind  their  i)ack  ? 
Nobody  ever  does.  We  all  say  horrible  things  of  one 
another ;  but  we  don't  mean  half  of  them^  so  what 
does  it  matter?  I  don't  blame  Olga,  not  in  the  least; 
Schouvaloflf  is  a  brute,  and,  besides,  he  knows  it  very 
well,  and  he  doesn't  mind  a  bit;  indeed,  of  course  he's 
glad  enough " 

"  I  do  blame  Olga ;  but  I  can't  see  how  you  can," 
said  her  cousin,  coldly. 

IMadame  jSlila  ruffled  herself  more,  looking  more  and 
more  like  a  little  angry  bird  in  the  middle  of  a  pink 
rose. 

"  I  ?  Pray  what  can  anybody  say  of  me?  Spiridion 
is  always  with  me  half  the  year  at  least.  Spiridion  is 
extremely  fond  of  Maurice,  so  are  all  the  children. 
He's  at  another  hotel,  right  at  the  other  end  of  the 
place;  really  I  can't  see  why  I  must  rush  out  of  a  town 
because  a  friend  happens  to  come  into  it  also " 

"  My  dear  Mila,  pray  don't  talk  that  nonsense  to 
me,"  said  her  cousin,  serenely.  "  I  dare  say  ten  years 
lieuce  you  will  marry  your  little  Lili  to  M.  des  Gom- 
meux ;  people  do  do  that  sort  of  thing,  thougli  they  find 
fault  with  the  plots  of  the  old  Greek  plays ;  I  suppose 
it  '  saves  society  ;'  at  least  it  saves  appearances.  Olga 
is  imprudent,  I  know,  and  wrong ;  but  at  least  she  lias 
the  courage  of  her  opinions;  she  does  not  talk  all  that 
paltry  pusillanimous  prurient  absurdity  about  'friend- 
ship.'" 

"  Nobody  can  understand  you,  Hilda ;  and  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  about  Greek  plays,"  muttered 
Madame  Mila.     "  Everybody  lives  in  the  same  way : 


JX  A    WINTER    CITY.  157 

you  talk  as  if  it  were  only  me  !  Spiridion  never  says 
a  word  to  me ;  what  business  have  you  ?" 

"  None  in  the  least,  dear ;  only  you  will  bring  up 
the  subject.  Qui  s'excuse  s'accuse.  That  is  all.  You 
are  not  coming  out  this  morning?  Au  revoir,  then  ;  I 
am  going  to  see  a  newly-found  San  Cipriano  il  Mago 
outside  the  gates ;  they  think  it  is  by  II  Moretto.  The 
face  and  dress  are  Venetian,  they  say;  but  you  care 
nothing  at  all  about  that,  do  you  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Madame  Mila,  with  a  yawn.  "  I 
suppose  if  it  tidvc  your  fancy  you'll  be  buying  the 
whole  church  with  it  in,  if  you  can't  get  it  any  other 
way.  I  wish  I'd  your  money :  I  wouldn't  waste  it 
on  old  pictures,  that  only  make  a  room  dark ;  and  the 
kind  of  light  they  want  is  horribly  unbecoming  to 
people." 

"  I  promise  you  I  shall  not  hang  an  altar-piece  in  a 
room,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda.  "  I  leave  that  for  the 
heretics  and  the  bourgeoisie.     Good-by,  my  dear." 

"Who's  going  with  you?"  cried  Madame  Mila  after 
her.     Lady  Hilda  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Nina  is,  and  the  French  artist  who  has  discovered 
the  Moretto,  and — M.  della  Rocca." 

Madame  Mila  laughed,  and  took  up  a  little  mirror 
to  see  if  all  the  color  on  her  face  were  quite  right.  One 
horrible  never-to-be-forgotten  day,  one  eyebrow  had 
been  higher  than  the  other. 

Lady  Hilda,  descending  tiie  hotel  staircase,  met  the 
faithful  Maurice  a.scending.  That  slender  and  indefati- 
gable leader  of  cotillons  swept  his  hat  to  the  ground, 
twisted  the  waxed  ends  of  his  small  moustache,  and 

murmured  that  he  svas  about  to  inquire  of  the  servants 

U 


158  ^V  A    U'J.XTKR    CITV. 

if  Madame  la  Coratesse  were  "  tout  a  fait  remise  apr&s 
Kes  iatigues  incroyables." 

Lady  Hilda,  whom  he  feared  very  greatly,  passed 
him  with  a  chilly  salutation,  and  he  Avent  on  up  the 
stairs,  and  in  two  minutes'  time  was  assuring  Madame 
Mila  that  she  was  "  fraiche  comme  la  rosee  du  matin," 
which  did  credit  to  his  ready  chivalry  of  compliments, 
since  he  was  aware  of  all  the  mysteries  of  those  bright 
cheeks  and  that  small  pomegranate-like  mouth,  and 
had  even,  once  or  twice  before  great  balls,  given  an 
artistic  touch  or  two  to  their  completion,  having  gradu- 
ated with  much  skill  and  success  in  such  accomplish- 
ments under  the  tuition  of  Mademoiselle  Rose  The, 
and  La  Petite  Boulotte. 

The  San  Cipriano  was  to  be  found  in  a  church  some 
five  miles  out  of  the  city, — a  lonely  church  set  high  on 
a  fragrant  hill-side,  with  sheep  among  the  olive-boughs, 
and  the  ox-plow  under  the  vines  that  were  all  about  it, 
and  high  hedges  of  wild  roses  and  thickets  of  arbutus 
rambling  around  its  old  walled  grave-yard. 

The  paths  close  round  it  were  too  steep  for  the  horses, 
and  the  last  half-mile  had  to  be  climbed  on  foot. 

It  was  one  of  those  spring  days  which  often  fall  in 
February;  the  ground  was  blue  with  violets,  and  the 
grass  golden  with  crocus  and  hepatica;  there  were 
butterflies  and  bees  on  the  air;  the  mavis  and  black- 
bird were  singing. 

The  San  Cipriano  hung  over  a  side-altar  in  the  dark, 
desolate,  grand  old  church,  where  no  w^orshiper  ever 
came  except  a  tired  peasant,  or  a  shepherd  sheltering 
from  a  storm. 

Delia  Itocca])ulled  aside  the  moth-eaten  curtains  from 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  !-,<) 

the  adjacent  window,  and  let  the  sunsliine  in.  Some 
little  children  were  sitting  on  the  altar-steps,  stringing 
daisies  and  berries;  the  light  made  a  halo  about  liioir 
heads ;  the  deep  Venetian  colors  of  the  forgotten  pic- 
ture glanced  like  jewels  through  the  film  of  the  dust  of 
ages.  Its  theme  was  a  martyrdom  of  the  Magi(;ian  and 
of  St.  Justina;  beneath  were  the  crowds  of  Nicomedia 
and  the  guards  of  Diocletian,  above  were  the  heavens 
opened  and  the  hosts  of  waiting  angels.  It  was  a 
great  theme  greatly  treated. 

"It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  legends  that  we  have, 
to  my  thinking,"  said  Delia  Rocca,  when  they  had  stud- 
ied it  minutely  and  in  all  lights.  *' It  has  been  very 
seldom  selected  by  painters  for  treatment;  one  wonders 
why ;  perhaps  because  there  is  too  much  human  passion 
iu  it  for  a  sacred  subject." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Hilda,  dreamily.  "One  can  never 
divest  oneself  of  the  idea  that  Santa  Justina  loved  him 
with  an  earthly  love." 

"Oh,  Hilda!  how  pagan  of  you!"  said  the  Marchesa 
del  Trasimene,  a  little  aghast. 

"Not  at  all.  Why  should  we  doubt  it?"  said  Delia 
Rocca,  quickly.  "  Why  should  we  deny  that  a  pure  love 
would  have  power  against  the  powers  of  the  world?" 

Lady  Hilda  looked  at  him,  and  a  great  softness  came 
into  her  face;  then  she  stoo})ed  to  the  little  children 
playing  with  the  berries  on  the  altar-steps,  and  ])nt 
some  money  in  their  little  brown  hands. 

"It  is  a  very  fine  picture," she  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  brown  and 
gold  and  crimson  so  beautifully  managed,  and  fused  in 
BO  deep  a  glow  of  color,  save  in  Palnia  Vecchio's  Santa 


IgO  ^^"^  ^    WINTER    CI  TV. 

Barbara — you  remember — in  Santa  ]\Iaria  Formosa  in 
Venice  ?"  ' 

"The  portrait  of  Yiolante  Pahua, — yes.  But  this 
subject  lias  a  deeper  and  warmer  interest.  Santa  Bar- 
bara with  her  tower  and  her  cannon  is  too  strong  to 
touch  one  very  much.  One  cannot  think  that  she  ever 
suffered." 

"  Yet  Santa  Barbara  has  a  very  wide  popularity,  if 
one  may  use  the  word  to  a  saint." 

"All  symbols  of  strength  have;  the  people  are  weak ; 
they  love  what  will  help  them.  It  is  very  singular 
what  deep  root  and  vast  fame  one  saint  has,  and  how 
obscure  remains  another ;  yet  both  equal  in  holiness  of 
life  and  courage  of  death.  Perhaps  the  old  painters 
have  done  it  by  the  frequency  of  their  choice  of  certain 
themes." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Lady  Hilda  ;  "  be  sure  the  painters 
rather  followed  the  public  preference  than  directed  it. 
Poets  lead;  painters  only  mirror.  I  like  this  San 
Cipriano  very  much.  They  did  not  say  too  much  of  it. 
It  is  left  to  dust  and  damp.  Could  I  buy  it,  do  you 
think?" 

"I  dare  say;  I  will  inquire  for  you  to-morrow.  AYe 
sell  anything  now.  When  the  public  debt  is  a  little 
heavier,  and  the  salt  tax  is  protested  against,  we  shall 
sell  the  Transfiguration.  AVhy  not  ? — we  have  a  copy 
at  St.  Peter's.  Indeed,  why  keep  the  St.  Cecilia  doing 
nothing  in  a  dark  old  church  in  Bologna,  when  its  sale 
■with  a  few  others  might  make  a  minister  or  a  senator 
well  off  for  life?" 

"  Do  not  be  so  bitter,  Paolo,"  said  the  Marchesa 
Nina:  "  vou  luiLrht  have  been  a  minister  yourself." 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  \CA 

"And  rebuilt  Palestrina  out  of  my  commission  on 
the  tax  on  cabbages !  Yes,  I  have  lost  my  opportuni- 
ties." 

The  Lady  Hilda  was  gazing  at  the  clouds  of  angels 
in  tlie  picture,  who  bore  aloft  the  martyred  souls  in 
their  immortal  union;  and  from  them  she  glanced  at 
the  little  fair  wondering  faces  of  the  peasant  children. 
She  had  never  thought  about  children  in  any  way,  save 
as  little  figures  that  composed  well  in  Stothard's  draw- 
ings, in  Sir  Joshua's  pictures,  in  Correggio's  frescoes. 
Now,  for  a  second,  the  thought  glanced  through  her 
that  women  were  happy  who  had  those  tender  soft  ties 
with  the  future  of  the  world.  What  future  had  she? 
— You  cannot  make  a  future  out  of  diamonds,  china, 
and  M.  Worth. 

"  You  really  wish  to  buy  the  San  Clpriano  ?"  he 
asked  her,  as  they  passed  over  the  worn,  damp  pave- 
ment towards  the  sunlight  of  the  open  door. 

"  Yes.     You  seem  to  think  it  sacrilege." 

"  No ;  I  think  the  moral  decadence  of  feeling  which 
makes  it  possible  for  my  nation  to  sell  such  things  is  a 
sacrilege  against  our  past,  and  a  violation  of  the  rights 
of  our  posterity;  but  that  is  another  matter,  and  no 
fault  of  yours.  What  will  you  do  with  it  when  you 
have  it  ?" 

"  I  will  put  it  in  my  oratory  in  Paris." 

The  answer  jarred  on  him ;  yet  there  was  no  other 
which  he  could  have  expected. 

"How  naturally  you  think  of  buying  all  you  see!" 

he  said,  a  little  impatiently.     "  I  suppose  that  power 

of  acquisition — that  wand  of  possession — is  very  dear 

to  you." 

14*  L 


IQ2  ^A'   '^    WISTKR    CITV. 

"AVhat  do  you  mean?    I  do  not  know;  it  is  a  habit. 
Yes;  I  suppose  one  likes  it." 

"  No  doubt.  Your  riches  are  to  you  as  his  magic 
was  to  San  Cipriano  yonder, — the  willingest  of  slaves.'* 

"  What !— an  evil  spirit,  then  ?" 

"  Not  necessarily.     But " 

"But  what?" 

"  A  despot,  though  a  slave ;  one  who  holds  your 
soul ;  as  the  powers  of  darkness  held  his,  until  a  great 
and  spiritual  love  set  him  free." 

They  were  passing  out  of  the  open  doorway  into  the 
calm  golden  light  of  the  passing  day.  Through  the 
fine  tracery  of  the  olive-boughs  the  beautiful  valley 
shone  like  a  summer  sea.  Before  them,  above  the 
southern  mountains,  the  sun  was  going  down.  Her 
eyes  grew  dan  for  a  moment  as  she  looked.  His  hand 
had  closed  on  hers ;  she  let  it  lie  within  his  clasp ;  it 
was  the  first  gesture  of  tenderness  she  had  ever  allowed 
to  him.  Then  at  a  sudden  recollection  she  withdrew 
it,  and  she  smiled  with  her  old  serene  indifference. 

"  You  will  talk  to  me  in  unknown  tongues !  Santa 
Justina  was  a  holy  woman  ;  I  am  not.  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  ever  did  any  unselfish  thing  in  all  my  life.  How 
many  violets  there  are ! — gather  me  some." 

The  others  drew  near ;  he  left  her  and  gathered  the 
violets.  They  were  countless;  the  old  church  was  left 
alone  to  perish  ;  no  foot  of  priest  or  worshiper  now  evei 
trod  upon  their  purple  glories. 

She  leaned  over  the  low  wall  of  the  grave-yard,  and 
watched  the  setting  sun.  She  felt  that  her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears. 

"  If  I  had  met  him  earlier "  she  thought. 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  1C3 

They  walked  clown  through  the  olive  thickets,  along 
the  grassy  slopes  of  the  hill,  to  the  carriage,  and  drove 
home  in  the  now  waning  light. 

She  was  capricious,  contemptuous,  ironical,  arrogant, 
in  everything  she  said,  lying  back  with  the  furs  cover- 
ing her  from  the  chill  evening  winds. 

"  Does  going  to  a  church  always  make  you  so  caustic, 
cara  mia  ?"  said  the  Marchesa  Nina. 

Delia  Rocca  was  very  silent.  The  French  artist 
kept  up  the  ball  of  talk  with  her  and  the  lovely 
Marchesa,  and  played  the  gay  game  well.  The  sun 
sank  quite ;  the  brief  twilight  came ;  then  darkness ; 
the  horses  took  them  down  through  the  walled  lanes 
and  the  rose  hedges  into  the  narrow  streets,  where 
here  and  there  the  lamps  were  twinkling,  and  the 
glow  of  the  wood  fires  shoiie  through  the  grated  case- 
ments. 

The  carriage  paused  first  at  the  Hotel  Murat. 

"  I  shall  see  you  to-night  at  Princess  Furstenberg's, 
Hilda,  of  course  ?"  said  the  Marchesa. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  as  she  descended, 
drawing  her  sables  closer  around  her.  "You  will  be 
there,  I  suppose?"  she  added,  with  a  little  change  of 
her  voice,  to  Delia  Rocca,  as  he  held  his  arm  for  her  to 
alight.     He  looked  straight  down  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said,  simply.  "  Good-night,  ma- 
dame." 

He  stood  with  his  head  uncovered,  whilst  she  went 
up  the  steps  of  the  hotel ;  then,  as  the  door  closed  on 
her,  he  walked  away  to  his  own  old  house. 

Lady  Hilda  went  up  to  her  own  rooms ;  she  had  a 
knot  of  violets  with  her.     Before  she  put  them  in  water 


164  ^^"  A    WINTER    CI  TV. 

she  touched  them  with  her  lips, — as  any  girl  of  sixteen 
or  any  peasant  Gretchen  might  have  clone. 

That  night  at  the  Princess  Furstenberg's — one  of 
the  pleasantest  houses  of  the  winter  city — men  and 
women  both  said  to  one  another  that  they  had  never 
teen  her  looking  more  beautiful,  or  more  magnificent 
in  the  blaze  of  her  jewels,  but  they  found  her  colder 
and  more  difficult  to  converse  with  than  ever,  and  were 
more  than  ever  hopelessly  impressed  with  the  sense  of 
their  own  absolute  nullity  in  her  eyes. 

He  was  not  there. 

She  stayed  but  a  brief  time, — long  enough  to  chill 
every  one  there  like  ice,  which  was  the  effect  she  always 
produced  in  society  when  it  was  so  unhappy  as  not  to 
please  her;  then,  having  frozen  it,  she  left  it, — the  ladies 
who  remained  breathing  freer  when  her  delicate  loveli- 
ness and  her  mighty  emeralds  had  ceased  to  outshine 
them.     She  sank  back  in  her  carriage  with  a  great  sigh. 

The  homeward  streets  led  past  the  palace  of  the  Delia 
Rocca.  She  let  the  window  down,  and  looked  outward, 
as  she  passed  it.  She  saw  a  single  casement  alone  lighted 
in  the  great  black  mass  of  frowning  stone,  with  its  ma- 
chicolated  walls  and  iron  stanchions.  It  was  above  the 
entrance;  she  knew  it  was  his  favorite  room, — where 
his  books  were,  and  his  old  bronzes,  and  his  favorite 
weapons. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  again  as  she  looked  up  at 
the  solitary  light.  She  felt  for  the  little  cluster  of  violets 
that  she  had  fastened  under  the  great  emeralds  in  her 
bosom;  his  hand  had  gathered  them. 

"If  any  one  had  told  me  I  would  care!"  she  thought 
to  herself. 


IN  A    WINTER    CI  TV.  163 

The  tears  on  her  lashes  stole  slowly  down,  and 
dimmed  the  emeralds  and  refreshed  the  violets. 

She  was  the  most  heartless  creatnre  in  tlie  world, — 
the  coldest  and  most  self- en  grossed  of  women,  her  friends 
and  aeqnaintances  were  saying,  after  her  departure,  in 
the  drawing-rooms  of  the  Princess  Furstenberg.  Not 
like  her  cousin ;  dear  little  Madame  Mila  was  all  good 
nature,  all  kindliness,  all  heart. 

At  the  Fiera  for  the  orphan  children  the  week  be- 
fore, had  not  dear  little  Madame  Mila  slaved  herself 
to  death,  bustling  about  in  tlie  most  bewitching  costume, 
whirling  like  a  Japanese  windmill,  wearing  the  loveli- 
est little  muslin  apron,  with  huge  pockets,  into  which 
thousands  of  francs  were  poured,  turning  the  lottery- 
wheel  indefatigably  for  three  days,  and  selling  cigars 
she  had  lighted,  and  lilies  of  the  valley  she  had  kissed, 
at  the  most  fabulous  prices,  for  the  good  of  the  poor? 

And  had  not  Lady  Hilda  contemptuously  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  Fiera  at  all? 

The  almoner  of  the  charities,  indeed,  had  received 
a  fifty-thousand -franc  note  anonymously.  But,  then, 
how  could  anybody  divine  that  the  Lady  Hilda  had 
sent  it  because  a  chance  word  of  Delia  Rocca's  had 
sunk  into  her  mind?  Whereas  everybody  saw  Madame 
Mila  whirling  and  saying  so  prettily,  "Pour  nos  pau- 
vres! — pour  nos  chers  pauvres!" 


IGG  -^^V  A    WINTER    CITY. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

The  next  morning  they  brought  her  a  note;  it  said 
that  he  had  inquired  about  the  San  Cipriano,  but  the 
matter  had  to  be  referred  to  some  authority  absent  in 
Rome,  and  there  could  be  no  answer  for  a  few  days, 
perhaps  weeks.  The  note  was  signed  with  the  assur- 
ance of  the  highest  consideration  of  the  humblest  of 
her  servants, — Paolo  della  Rocca. 

The  note  might  have  been  read  from  the  house-top: 
she  had  had  letters  from  him  of  a  different  strain,  charm- 
ing little  brief  letters,  about  a  flower,  about  an  opera- 
box,  about  a  piece  of  ])ottery, — always  about  some 
trifle,  but  making  the  trifle  the  medium  of  a  delicately- 
veiled  homage  and  a  softly-hinted  tenderness. 

She  tossed  the  note  into  the  fire,  and  saw  his  name 
burn  in  the  clear  flame  of  a  pine  branch:  why  could  he 
not  have  called,  instead  of  writing? 

She  was  restless  all  day,  and  nothing  pleased  her, — 
not  even  M.  de  St.  Louis,  who  did  call,  and  sat  a  long 
time,  and  was  in  his  most  delightful  humor,  and  full 
of  new  anecdotes  about  everybody  and  everything ;  but 
he  did  not  mention  Della  Rocca. 

The  Due  found  no  topic  that  suited  her. 

It  was  the  Corso  di  Gala  that  afternoon ;  would  she 
not  go  ? 

No :  her  horses  hated  masks,  and  she  hated  noise. 

The  Veglione  on  Sunday;  would  she  not  go  to  that? 

No :  those  things  were  well  enough  in  the  days  of 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  1G7 

Philippe  d'Orleans,  who  invented  tliem,  but  they  were 
now  only  as  stupid  as  they  were  vulgar ;  anybody  was 
let  in  for  five  francs. 

Did  she  like  the  new  weekly  journal  that  was  electri- 
fying Paris? 

No:  she  could  see  nothing  in  it:  there  was  no  wit 
nowadays, — only  personalities,  which  grew  more  gross 
every  year. 

The  Due  urged  that  personalities  were  as  old  as  Cra- 
tinus  and  Archilochus,  and  that  five  hundred  years 
before  Christ  the  satires  of  Hipponax  drove  Bupalus 
to  hang  himself. 

She  answered  that  a  bad  thing  was  not  the  better  for 
being  old. 

People  were  talking  of  a  clever  English  novel  trans- 
lated everywhere,  called  "In  a  Hothouse,"  the  hothouse 
being  Society:  had  she  seen  it? 

No :  what  wa-s  the  use  of  reading  novels  of  society 
by  people  who  never  had  been  in  it?  The  last  English 
"society"  novel  she  had  read  had  described  a  cabinet 
minister  in  London  as  going  to  a  Drawing-room  in  the 
crowd  with  everybody  else,  instead  of  by  the  jae^ite 
efniree  ;  they  were  always  full  of  such  blunders. 

Had  she  read  the  new  French  story  "  Le  Bal  de 
Mademoiselle  Bibi"? 

No :  she  had  heard  too  much  of  it ;  it  made  one 
almost  wish  for  a  censorship  of  the  press. 

The  Due  agreed  that  literature  was  terribly  but 
truly  described  as  "  un  tas  d'ordures  soigneusement  eu- 
velopp^." 

She  said  that  the  "tas  d'ordures"  without  the  en- 
velope was  sufficient  for  popularity,  but  that  the  litera- 


168  J^"^  ^1  WINTER  cirr. 

ture  of  any  age  was  not  to  be  blamed  ;  it  was  only  a 
natural  growth,  like  a  mushroom  :  if  the  soil  were 
noxious,  the  fungus  was  bad. 

The  Due  wondered  what  a  censorship  would  let  pa&s^ 
if  there  were  one. 

She  said  that  when  there  was  one  it  had  let  pass  Cre- 
l)illon,  the  Chevalier  Le  Clos,  and  the  "  Bijoux  Indis- 
crets ;"  it  had  proscribed  Marmontel,  Helvetius,  and 
Lanjuinais.  She  did  not  know  how  one  man  could  bo 
expected  to  be  wiser  than  all  his  generation. 

The  Due  admired  some  majolica  she  had  purchased. 

She  said  she  began  to  think  that  majolica  was  a  false 
taste;  the  metallic  lustre  was  fine,  but  how  clumsy 
often  the  forms !  one  might  be  led  astray  by  too  great 
love  of  old  work. 

The  Due  praised  a  magnificent  Sevres  panel,  just 
painted  by  Riocreux  and  Goupil,  and  given  to  her  by 
Princess  Olga  on  the  New  Year. 

She  said  it  was  well  done,  but  what  charm  was  there 
in  it?  All  their  modern  iron  and  zinc  colors,  and 
hydrate  of  aluminum,  and  oxide  of  chromium,  and 
purple  of  Cassius,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  never  gave 
one-tenth  the  charm  of  those  old  painters  who  had  only 
green  grays  and  dull  blues  and  tawny  yellows  and 
never  could  get  any  kind  of  red  whatever ;  Olga  had 
meant  to  please  her,  but  she,  for  her  part,  would  much 
sooner  have  had  a  little  panel  of  Abruzzi,  with  all  the 
holes  and  defects  in  the  pottery,  and  a  brown  coutadina 
for  a  Madonna;  there  wa.s  some  interest  in  that, — there 
was  no  interest  in  that  gorgeous  landscape  and  those 
bri 1 1  iant  hunting-figures. 

The   Duo   bore  all   the  contradictious  with   imper- 


7.V  A    WINTER    CITY.  1G9 

turbable  serenity  and  urbanity,  smiled  to  himself,  and 
bowed  himself  out  in  perfect  good  liuraor. 

"Tout  va  bien,"  he  thought  to  himself;  "Miladl 
must  be  very  much  in  love  to  be  so  cross." 

The  Due's  personal  experience  among  ladies  had 
made  him  of  opinion  that  love  did  not  improve  the 
temper. 

"  The  carriage  waits,  Miladi,"  said  her  servant. 

"  I  shall  not  drive  to-day,"  said  Lady  Hilda.  "  Tell 
them  to  saddle  Said." 

It  was  a  brilliant  day ;  all  the  bells  were  pealing, 
and  the  sunshine  and  the  soft  wind  streaming  in.  She 
thought  a  ten-mile  stretch  across  the  open  country  might 
do  her  good  ;  at  any  rate,  it  would  be  better  than  sit- 
ting at  home,  or  pacing  slowly  in  the  procession  of  the 
Corso  di  Gala,  which  was  only  a  shade  less  stupid  than 
the  pelting  Corso. 

Said  was  a  swift,  nervous,  impetuous  horse, — the 
only  sort  of  horse  she  cared  to  ride ;  and  he  soon  bore 
her  beyond  the  gates,  leaving  the  carriages  of  her 
friends  to  crush  each  other  in  the  twisting  streets,  and 
vie  in  state  liveries  and  plumes  and  ribbons  and 
powdered  servants,  and  amuse  the  good-natured,  kindly, 
orderly  crowds  of  Floral ia,  clustered  on  the  steps  of 
churches  and  under  the  walls  of  palaces. 

She  rode  against  the  wind,  as  straight  as  the  state 
of  the  roads  would  permit  her,  as  wonderful  a  sight  to 
the  astonished  country-people  as  though  she  had  been 
Santa  Margarita  on  her  dragon.  Said  took  a  few 
stone  walls  and  sunken  fences  which  put  him  on  good 
terms  with  himself.  She  was  in  no  mood  to  spare 
him,  or  avoid  any  risks  it  might  amuse  him  to  run; 
H  15 


170  /-V  A    WINTER   CirV. 

and  they  had  soon  covered  many  more  miles  than  she 
knew. 

"Where  are  we?"  she  asked  her  groom,  when  Said 
slackened  his  j)ace  at  last. 

The  groom,  who  was  a  Scotchman,  had  no  idea  and 
no  power  of  asking. 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  said  his  mistress,  and  rode  on 
again. 

They  were  on  a  tolerably  broad  road,  with  a  village 
above  them,  on  a  steep  green  vine-clad  hill ;  there  were 
the  usual  olive-orchards  everywhere,  with  here  and 
there  pear-  and  plum-trees,  which  had  not  yet  begun 
to  show  their  silver  buds,  and  farther  still  all  aronnd 
the  countless  curves  of  the  many  mountain-spurs  that 
girdle  the  valley  of  Floralia.  There  was  another  stone 
wall  in  front  of  them  ;  beyond  it  the  turf  looked  green 
and  pleasant ;  she  put  Said  at  it,  but  some  one  from  a 
distance  called  out  to  her  in  Italian,  "  For  God's  sake 
stop  the  horse !" 

On  the  other  side  of  the  wall  the  ground  fell  sud- 
denly to  a  depth  of  twenty  feet. 

She  caught  up  Said's  head  in  time  only  by  a  moment; 
he  stood  erect  on  his  hind  legs  for  a  second,  but  she 
kept  her  seat  unshaken  ;  she  thought  he  would  lose  his 
balance  and  fall  back  on  her ;  but  she  stilled  and  con- 
trolled him  with  the  coolest  nerve.  As  he  descended 
on  his  front  feet,  Delia  Rocca  came  through  a  high  iron 
gate  on  the  left,  leaped  a  ditch,  and  sprang  to  the  horse's 
head. 

"  How  can  you  do  such  mad  things  ?"  he  said,  with 
a  quiver  in  his  voice.  "  That  gate  was  locked;  I  could 
only  shout  to  you.     I  thought  I  was  too  late " 


IN  A  WINTER  crry.  171 

His  face  was  pale  as  death ;  her  color  had  not  even 
changed.     She  looked  at  him,  and  smiled  a  little. 

"So  many  thanks!  it  is  a  silly  habit,  taking  walls; 
I  learned  to  like  it  when  I  was  a  child  and  rode  with 
my  brother.  Sai'd  is  not  frightened  now  ;  you  may  let 
him  alone.     Where  are  we?" 

"  On  the  ground  of  Palestrina." 

"  Palestrina  !  I  see  nothing  of  your  villa." 

"  We  are  eight  miles  from  the  villa.  It  lies  beyond 
those  other  hills;  but  all  the  ground  here  is  mine.  I 
was  visiting  one  of  my  farms.  By  heaven's  mercy  I 
saw  you " 

His  voice  still  faltered,  and  his  face  was  pale  with 
strong  emotion ;  his  hand  had  closed  on  hers,  and 
rested  on  her  knee. 

"  You  were  behind  that  tall  gate,  then?" 

"  Yes ;  I  have  the  key  of  that  gate,  but  the  lock  was 
rusted.  Come  and  rest  a  moment:  you  are  a  long  way 
from  Floralia.  There  is  an  old  farm-house  here;  they 
are  all  my  own  people." 

She  dismounted,  and  threw  the  bridle  to  her  groom. 

"  It  terrifies  you  more  than  it  did  me,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  laugh. 

He  took  both  her  hands  and  kissed  them;  he  did  not 
answer,  neither  did  she  rebuke  him. 

He  led  her  through  the  iron  gate  down  a  grassy  path 
between  the  gray  gnarled  olive-trees  and  the  maples 
with  their  lithe  red  boughs;  there  wa.s  a  large  old 
house  with  clouds  of  pigeons  round  it;  and  great  mul 
berry-trees  near,  and  sculptured  shields  and  lions  on 
the  walls;  women  ran  to  him  delightedly,  men  left 
their  plows  afar  off  and  came,  eager  and  bareheaded, 


172  J^'  ^    WINTER    CITY. 

to  see  if  tliere  was  any  cliauce  to  serve  bira ;  he  wps 
their  prince,  tlieir  lord,  their  idol,  their  best  friend  ;  as 
their  fathers  had  followed  his  to  the  death,  so  would 
they  have  followed  him.  Half  a  dozen  flew  to  do  each 
word  of  his  bidding, — brought  in  the  horse,  brought 
out  an  oaken  settle  for  her  in  the  sun,  brought  fresh 
water  from  the  spring,  fresh  lemons  from  the  tree,  fresh 
violets  from  the  hedges. 

At  a  sign  from  him,  one  of  the  shepherd-boys,  who 
was  famous  for  his  singing,  came  and  stood  before  them, 
and  sang  to  his  guitar  some  of  the  love-songs  of  the 
province  in  a  sweet  tenor  voice,  liquid  as  the  singing 
of  nightingales.  The  green  and  gracious  country  was 
around,  the  low  sun  made  the  skies  of  the  west  radiant, 
the  smell  of  the  woods  and  fields  rose  fresh  from  the 
earth.  She  drank  the  draught  he  made  for  her,  and 
listened  to  the  singing,  and  watched  the  simple,  pasto- 
ral, old-world  life  around  her,  and  felt  her  heart  thrill 
as  she  met  the  amorous  worship  of  his  eyes. 

She  had  never  thought  of  natural  beauty,  or  of  the 
lives  of  the  poor,  save  now  and  then  when  they  had 
been  recalled  to  her  by  some  silvery  landscape  of  Corot 
or  some  sad  rural  idyl  of  Millet ;  as  she  sat  here,  she 
felt  as  if  she  had  passed  all  her  life  in  some  gorgeous 
heated  theatre,  and  had  only  now  come  out  into  the 
open  air  and  under  the  arch  of  heaven. 

There  was  a  wonderful,  dreamy,  lulling  charm  in 
this  olive-hidden  solitude:  she  did  not  care  to  move,  to 
think,  to  analyze.  He  did  not  speak  to  her  of  love ; 
they  both  avoided  words,  which,  spoken,  might  break 
the  spell  of  their  present  peace  and  part  them  ;  but 
every  now  and  then  liis  eyes  looked  into  hers,  and  were 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  173 

heavy  with  the  languor  of  silent  passion,  and  stirred 
her  heart  to  strange  sweet  tumult. 

When  the  boy  sang  the  passionate,  plaintive,  love- 
songs,  then  her  face  grew  warm,  and  her  eyelids  fell : 
it  was  no  longer  an  unknown  tongue  to  her. 

She  would  not  think  of  the  future :  she  resigned  her- 
self to  the  charm  of  the  hour. 

So  did  he  also.  The  night  before,  he  had  resolved 
to  avoid  her,  to  cease  to  see  her,  to  forget  her.  She  had 
wounded  him,  and  he  had  told  himself  that  it  was  best 
to  let  the  world  have  her,  body  and  soul.  Now  chance 
had  overruled  his  resolve :  he  could  not  war  with  his 
fate;  he  let  it  come  as  it  might.  He  had  found  his 
way  to  influence  her ;  he  knew  that  he  could  move  her 
as  no  other  could ;  yet  he  hesitated  to  say  to  her  what 
must  unite  them  or  part  them. 

Besides,  since  this  woman  had  grown  dear  to  him 
with  a  passion  alike  born  out  of  her  physical  beauty 
and  his  own  sense  of  power  on  her  and  his  insight  into 
the  richer  possibilities  of  her  nature,  the  colder  calcula- 
tions which  had  occupied  him  at  his  first  knowledge  of 
her  seemed  to  him  base  and  unworthy ;  if  he  had  not 
loved  her  he  would  have  pursued  her  with  no  pang  of 
conscience ;  having  grown  to  love  her,  to  love  her  love- 
liness, and  her  pride,  and  her  variableness,  and  her  in- 
finite charm,  and  her  arrogant  faults,  to  love  her  in  a 
word,  and  to  desire  indescribably  to  lead  her  from  the 
rank  miasma  of  the  pleasures  and  pomps  of  the  woild 
into  a  clearer  and  higher  spiritual  atmosphere,  he  recoiled 
more  and  more  day  by  day  from  seeking  her  as  the 
medium  of  his  own  fortune,  he  checked  himself  more 
and  more  in  the  utterance  of  a  passion  which  could  but 

15* 


174  IN  A    WISTER    CITV. 

seem  to  her  mingled  at  the  least  with  the  lowest  of 
motives. 

He  was  her  lover,  he  did  not  disguise  it  from  himself 
or  her ;  but  he  paused  before  doing  that  which  would 
make  him  win  or  lose  it  all;  not  because  he  feared  his 
fate,  but  because  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  the 
acceptance  of  it. 

"  Sing  me  something  yourself,"  she  said  to  him ;  and 
he  took  the  boy's  mandolin,  and,  leaning  against  the 
porch  of  the  house,  touched  a  chord  of  it  now  and  then, 
and  sang  her  every  thing  she  would,  while  the  sun  shone 
in  the  silver  of  the  olives  and  the  afternoon  shadows 
stole  slowly  down  the  side  of  the  mountains.  Then  he 
sat  down  on  the  steps  at  her  feet,  and  talked  to  her  of 
his  people,  of  his  land,  of  his  boyhood  and  his  youth. 

"  I  have  lived  very  much  in  the  great  world,"  he 
said,  after  a  time, — "  this  world  which  you  think  is  the 
only  one.  But  I  am  never  so  well  content  as  when  I 
come  back  here  under  my  olives.  I  suppose  you  cannot 
understand  that?" 

"I  am  not  sure:  yes,  perhaps.  One  grows  tired  of 
everything." 

"Everything  that  is  artificial,  you  mean.  People 
think  Horace's  love  of  the  rural  life  an  affectation.  I 
believe  it  to  be  most  sincere.  After  the  strain  of  the 
conventionality  and  the  adulation  of  the  Augustan 
court,  the  natural  existence  of  the  country  must  have 
been  welcome  to  him.  I  know  it  is  the  fashion  to 
think  that  a  love  of  Nature  belongs  only  to  the  Mod- 
erns ;  but  I  do  not  think  so.  Into  Pindar,  Theocritus, 
Meleager,  the  passion  for  Nature  must  have  entered 
very  strongly ;  what  is  modern  is  the  more  subjective, 


IX  A    WINTER    CITY.  175 

the   more   fanciful,   feeling  which    makes    Nature   a 
sounding-board  to  echo  all  the  cries  of  man." 

"  But  that  is  always  a  Northern  feeling." 

"  Inevitably.  With  us  Nature  is  too  riante  for  us  to 
grow  morbid  about  it.  The  sunshine  that  laughs  about 
us  nine  months  of  every  year,  the  fruits  that  grow  almost 
without  culture,  the  flowers  that  we  throw  to  the  oxen  to 
eat,  the  very  stones  that  are  sweet  with  myrtle,  the  very 
sea-sand  that  is  musical  with  bees  in  the  rosemary, 
everything  we  grow  up  among  from  infancy  makes  our 
love  of  Nature  only  a  kind  of  unconscious  joy  in  it ; 
but  here  even  the  peasant  has  that,  and  the  songs  of 
the  men  that  cannot  read  or  write  are  full  of  it.  If  a 
field-laborer  sing  to  his  love,  he  will  sing  of  the  nar- 
cissus and  the  crocus,  as  Meleager  sang  to  Heliodora 
twenty  centuries  ago " 

"And  your  wild  narcissus  is  the  true  narcissus, — ■ 
the  Greek  narcissus,  with  its  many  bells  to  one  stem  ?" 

"Yes.  In  March  and  April  it  will  be  out  every- 
where in  the  fields  and  woods  about  here.  I  thought 
once  that  you  loved  flowers  as  you  loved  art,  merely  as 
a  decoration  of  your  salon.  But  I  was  wrong.  They 
are  closer  to  your  heart  than  that.  Why  do  you  deny 
your  emotions?  Why  do  you  mask  yourself  under 
such  cold  phrases  as  those  you  used  to  me  yesterday  ?" 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"  How  should  I  remember  what  I  said  so  long  back 
as  yesterday  ?" 

"  That  is  hard ! — for  those  who  hear  may  remember 
for  a  lifetime.  Your  words  kept  me  from  where  you 
were  last  night." 

"  What  I  say  at  any  time  is  worth  but  little  thought. 


176  ^^^  ^   WINTER   CI  TV. 

I  fear  you  think  too  well  of  me  always,"  she  said,  on 
a  sudden  vague  impulse  and  the  first  pang  of  humility 
that  she  had  ever  known  to  smite  the  superb  vanity 
that  had  always  enwrapped  her. 

With  a  soft  grace  of  action  he  touched  with  his  lips 
the  hem  of  her  riding-skirt. 

"  No,"  he  said  simply,  "  you  might  indeed  '  daze 
one  to  blindness  like  the  noonday  sun.'  But  I  am  not 
blind.  I  see  in  you  many  errors  more  against  yourself 
than  others ;  I  see  the  discontent  which  always  argues 
high  unsatisfied  desire,  and  the  caprice  which  is  merely 
the  offshoot  of  too  long  indulgence  of  all  passing  fan- 
cies; but  what  matter  those? — your  nature  and  the 
nobility  of  it  lie  underneath  them  in  a  vein  of  gold 
unworked.  You  have  had  the  language  of  flattery 
to  nausea:  I  do  not  give  it  you;  I  say  but  what  I 
believe." 

The  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes,  and  the  music  of  his 
voice  thrilled  through  her. 

She  did  not  care  to  wait  for  the  words  that  she  knew 
would  follow  as  his  fingers  stole  and  clasped  hers  close, 
and  she  felt  on  her  the  gaze  she  did  not  dare  to  meet. 
She  rose,  and  glanced  to  the  west. 

"  The  sun  is  just  gone  behind  the  hills.  I  shall  be 
late.     Will  you  tell  them  to  bring  me  Said?" 

He  rose,  too,  and  did  not  oppose  her  departure. 

"  I  rode  here  myself,  fortunately,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  allow  me  to  go  Mdth  you  into  Floralia ;  the  roads 
are  bad  and  hard  to  find." 

They  brought  Said  out  of  the  great  wooden  sweet- 
smelling  outhouse,  and  he  raised  her  in  silence  to  her 
saddle.    He  gave  her  a  little  knot  of  the  fragrant  leaf- 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  177 

less  calycanthus  with  a  few  sprays  of  myrtle ;  she  put 
it  in  her  bosom ;  it  was  ah'eady  dusk,  and  he  saw  the 
softened  dimness  of  her  eyes. 

They  rode  down  together  in  the  declining  light 
through  the  winding  ways  of  the  outlying  country 
into  the  town;  it  was  quite  dark  when  they  reached 
the  gates;  they  had  ridden  fast  and  spoken  scarcely 
at  all. 

As  he  lifted  her  from  Sai'd  in  the  gloom  within  the 
scarcely-lighted  street,  he  pressed  her  softly  for  one 
second  in  his  arms,  so  that  she  felt  the  beating  of  his 
heart. 

"  Dio  te  guarde,"  he  murmured. 

She  left  him  in  silence,  and  without  rebuke. 

"Is  that  you,  Paolo?"  said  the  voice  of  Madame 
Mila  in  the  darkness,  as  a  carriage,  gorgeous  with 
amber  and  gold  liveries  and  with  Carnival  camellias 
at  the  horses'  heads,  pulled  up  with  great  noise  and 
haste  before  the  hotel  door. 

"  Is  that  you,  Paolo  ?  I  am  so  glad  !  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you.  The  Corso  was  horridly  stupid.  I  don't 
care  a  bit  except  for  the  pelting  days:  do  you?  I 
sprained  my  arm  last  year  in  Rome  with  the  pelting, 
and  I  really  blinded  poor  Solvario  for  a  week.  Why, 
dear  me,  that's  Said  !  Have  you  and  Hilda  been  riding 
together?" 

"  I  met  your  cousin,  madame,  by  chance ;  she  had  lost 
her  way.     It  is  very  easy  to  do  so  among  our  hills." 

"  How  very  fortunate  that  you  met  her !"  said  Madame 

Mila,  with  a  little  saucy  laugh.     "She  will  kill  herself 

riding  that  horrid  Said  some  day: — perhaps  she  will 

listen  to  you  if  you  tell  her  not.    What  was  it  I  wanted 

w*  M 


178  I^  -^    WINTER    CITV. 

to  say? — oh,  T  want  a  very  good  box  for  the  VegHone. 
You  are  one  of  the  directors  of  the  opera,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  thought  so.  AVell,  mind  I  have  one, — big  enough 
to  hold  the  supper-table  comfortably ;  and  see  Maurice 
about  it,  and  dine  witli  me  to-morrow,  will  you  ?  Nina 
and  Olga  and  the  usual  people.  Dear  me !  how  these 
horses  do  fidget !  How  very  nice  that  you  should  have 
met  dear  Hilda  just  when  she'd  lost  her  way !  Good" 
by ;  but  of  course  you'll  be  at  the  Roubleskoff's  to- 
night? I  wish  it  wasn't  costume.  I'm  embroidered 
all  over  with  Union  Jacks.  I'm  England ;  and  I  have 
a  little  Khedive  on  a  gold  stick  that  keeps  tumbling  up 
and  down,  and  I  carry  a  ship  in  full  sail  on  the  top  of 
my  head.  I  assure  you  it's  very  trying  to  be  a  Naval 
Power.  How  ever  I  shall  be  able  to  w^altz  with  that 
ship !" 

Delia  Rocca  rode  away  in  the  darkness,  as  the  skirts 
of  Madame  Mila  vanished  in  the  hotel  door-way  with 
the  gleam  of  golden-pheasant  trimmings  shining  under 
the  gas-lamp. 

He  went  home  to  his  solitary  dinner,  and  scarcely 
touched  it,  and  barely  even  noticed  his  dog.  He  sat 
alone  a  long  time,  thinking,  in  the  same  room  where, 
four  months  before,  he  had  pondered  on  the  Due  de  St. 
Louis's  counsels,  and  had  decided  to  himself  that  this 
woman,  beautiful  though  she  was,  was  arrogant,  unim- 
pressionable, extravagantly  capricious,  and  in  every 
way  antagonistic  to  him. 

Now  he  was  passionately  in  love  with  her  himself; 
he  knew  that  she  was  in  love  with  him ;  he  believed 
that  he  had  only  to  ask  and  have. 


IN  A    WINTER   CI  TV.  179 

And  yet  he  hesitated. 

It  was  the  marriage  of  all  other  marriages  for  him  ; 
he  had  softened  and  subdued  her  in  a  manner  which 
eould  not  but  intoxicate  his  vanity,  though  he  had  less 
vanity  than  most  men ;  he  did  not  distrust  her  char- 
acter, because  he  believed  that  there  was  a  vague  lofty 
nobility  in  it,  and  a  latent,  though  untouched,  tender- 
ness ;  of  her  caprices,  of  her  changefulness,  of  her  moods 
of  contempt  and  of  impatience,  he  had  no  fear  he  would 
substitute  other  emotions  for  them.  And  yet  he  hesi- 
tated ;  he  was  unresolved  ;  he  was  doubtful  whether  to 
accept  the  empire  he  had  obtained. 

He  would  have  concluded  a  marriage  of  interest  as 
coldly  and  tranquilly  as  any  other  man  with  a  woman  to 
whom  he  was  indifferent.  But  with  this  woman  whose 
mere  touch  thrilled  him  to  the  heart,  and  whose  im- 
perious eyes  had  only  grown  gentle  for  his  sake ! — 
never  had  he  felt  his  poverty  so  painfully  as  in  this 
moment  when  supreme  Fortune  seemed  to  have  stniled 
upon  him. 

Though  he  loved  her  with  passion,  he  almost  wished 
that  he  had  never  seen  her  face. 

After  all,  though  generous,  she  was  arrogant :  sooner 
or  later  she  might  make  him  feel  that  the  golden  sceptre 
was  hers  and  not  his.  To  his  temper,  which,  although 
gentle,  was  deeply  ingrained  with  the  pride  which  had 
been  transmitted  to  him  from  many  generations  of  a 
feudal  nobility,  such  a  possibility  seemed  unendurable. 
He  sat  still  lost  in  thought  till  his  lamp  grew  low,  and 
the  wind,  rising  lojd,  shook  the  leaded  panes  of  the 
old  high  windows. 

"  I  suppose  when  Fortune  does  smile  at  us  we  always 


180  ^^'  ^   WINTER   CI  TV. 

quarrel  with  her  so,"  he  thought,  with  some  impatience 
of  his  own  irresohition. 

After  all,  what  other  man  in  Europe  would  not  have 
been  content? 

He  got  up,  caressed  the  dog,  turned  the  lamp  higher, 
and  went  into  his  bed-chamber. 

"G€t  out  the  white  mousquetaire  dress,"  he  said 
to  his  old  servant.  "  I  will  go  to  the  Roubleskoff 
ball." 

All  patrician  Floralia  was  at  the  Roubleshoff  ball, 
one  of  the  last  great  entertainments  of  the  moribund 
Carnival.  In  six  more  days  there  would  come  the  Day 
of  Ashes ;  and  Floralia  would  repent  her  sins  in  sad- 
ness,— that  is,  with  only  musical  parties,  a  dinner  here 
and  there,  and  no  suppers  at  all : — perhaps  a  ball  might 
be  squeezed  in  once  or  twice  by  grace  of  the  Russian 
calendar,  but,  then,  if  you  took  advantage  of  that  you 
were  brouillS  with  all  the  codmi^  at  once. 

He  reached  the  Roubleskoff  villa  late,  not  so  late  but 
that  he  was  in  time  to  see  the  arrival  of  the  woman  who 
had  sat  with  him  at  her  feet,  and  talked  with  him  of 
Meleager  and  the  white  narcissus  flowers. 

Lady  Hilda  entered  like  a  sovereign,  and  drew  all 
eves  on  herself. 

She  was  attired  as  Vittoria  Colonna,  and  carried  her 
purples  and  cloth  of  gold  with  more  than  royal  grace ; 
the  color  on  her  cheek  was  heightened,  her  eyes  had  a 
dewy  brilliancy ;  what  they  spoke  to  her  she  seemed 
hardly  to  hear. 

He  M'as  as  her  shadow  all  the  evening. 

*  The  old  conservative  parly  is  so  termed  in  Italy, — codint. 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  181 

They  were  both  curiously  happy;  both  curiously 
troubled.     Neither  cared  to  look  onward. 

Society  there  assembled  said  that  it  was  a  great  thing 
for  the  Duca  della  Rocca ;  and  wondered  whether  they 
would  live  most  in  Floralia  or  Paris. 

"  C'est  moi  qui  a  inspire  cela,"  said  the  .''uc  de  Si. 
Louis,  with  much  self-complacency,  sitting  down  to  the 
whist-table;  he  was  quite  sure  that  all  was  right;  he 
had  seen  the  look  in  the  eyes  of  both  of  them. 

"  She  will  compromise  herself  at  last.  Oh,  what 
a  comfort  it  will  be!"  thought  little  Madame  Mila, 
carrying  her  frigate  in  full  sail  airily  through  the 
mazes  of  the  cotillon  with  a  sleeveless  bodice  on,  cut 
so  low  that  it  was  really  as  good  —  or  as  bad — as  if 
she  had  had  nothing  at  all.  She  did  not  wish  any 
harm,  of  course,  only,  really,  Hilda,  with  a  lover  like 
other  people,  would  be  so  much  more  natural  and 
agreeable. 

"  But  they  will  marry,  people  say,"  suggested  M. 
des  Gommeux,  to  whom  alone  she  confided  these  ideas. 

"  When  do  people  ever  say  anything  that  is  true  ?" 
said  Madame  Mila,  with  ])rofound  contempt,  tossing 
her  little  head  till  the  Naval  Power  of  England  was  in 
jeopardy.  She  was  irritated  to  hear  Maurice  even  talk 
about  marriage;  it  was  an  improper  thing  for  him  even 
to  mention,  considering  his  relation  to  herself.  When 
he  approached  any  young  girl  or  marriageable  wom.in 
of  any  sort,  Madame  Mila  bristled  like  a  little  angry 
terrier  that  sees  a  cat;  on  the  whole,  she  was  still  more 
exacting  than  Miles.  Rose  Th6  and  Boulotte,  and  wnere- 
as  in  society  he  could  escape  from  them,  he  could  in  no 
wise  escape  from  her. 


182  ^^^  ^    WINTER    CI  TV. 

If  it  had  been  a  question  of  marriage  for  lier  cousin, 
indeed,  Madame  Mila  Avould  have  opposed  it  tooth  and 
nail ;  she  had  a  feeling,  a  very  acute  one,  that  Delia 
llocca  did  not  approve  of  herself,  and  that  he  would 
certainly  never  allow  his  wife,  if  he  had  one,  to  be  very 
intimate  with  her.  But  Madame  Mila  knew  what  other 
people  did  not, — that  there  could  be  no  question  of  such 
a  marriage  for  her  cousin  ;  and  so  she  smiled  on  Delia 
Rocca,  and  was  always  engaging  him  to  dinner;  be- 
cause Lady  Hilda,  with  her  lover  about  her,  like  any 
one  else,  would  be  so  much  more  humanized  and  nat- 
ural, and  would  sympathize  so  much  better  with  other 
people. 

That  kind  of  virtue  of  Hilda's — if  it  were  virtue — 
was  such  an  odd,  chilly,  unpleasant  thing,  she  thought; 
to  live  in  that  way,  with  hundreds  of  men  seeking  her, 
and  cold  alike  to  them  all,  was  something  so  very  un- 
natural ;  it  was  almost  as  bad  as  being  one  of  those 
queer  women  who  wouldn't  tie  their  skirts  back,  or 
wear  high  heels,  or  dresb  their  hair  properly  : — it  was 
so  strange,  too,  in  a  person  who  in  all  other  matters 
was  the  very  queen  of  fashion,  the  very  head  and  front 
of  the  most  perfect  worldliness. 

It  was  very  late,  and  daylight  quite,  when  Lady 
Hilda,  contrary  to  her  custom,  left  the  ball;  she  had 
been  happy  wdth  a  w^armth  and  feverishness  of  happi- 
ness altogether  new  to  her ;  nothing  more  had  passed 
between  them,  but  they  had  been  together  all  the  night, 
although  never  alone. 

She  stood  a  moment  in  the  door-way,  facing  the  day- 
light. Most  women  are  ruined  by  such  a  test;  she 
looked  but  the  more  beautiful  with  the  sunrise  flush 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  ]83 

touching  her  clieek,  and  the  pearls  in  her  bosom,  and 
the  diamonds  in  her  hair. 

"I  may  come  to  you  early?"  he  murmured,  as  she 
paused  that  instant  on  the  step. 

"Yes, — no.  No:  I  shall  be  tired.  Wait  till  the 
evening.     You  are  coming  to  Mila." 

The  words  were  a  denial ;  but  on  her  lips  there  was 
sweetness,  and  in  her  eyes  a  soft  emotion,  as  she  moved 
onward  and  downward  to  the  carriajje. 

He  was  not  dissatisfied  or  dismayed.  As  he  drew 
the  furs  over  her  gold-laden  skirts,  his  head  bore 
lower  and  lower,  and  his  lips  touched  her  hand  and 
her  arm. 

"  The  sun  is  up.  I  never  am  so  late  as  this,"  she 
said,  as  though  she  did  not  feel  those  kisses ;  but,  by 
the  clear  light  of  the  day-dawn,  he  saw  the  blood  man- 
tle over  her  throat  and  bosom,  and  the  tremulous  shadow 
of  a  smile  move  her  mouth. 

The  horses  sprang  forward ;  he  stood  on  the  lower 
step,  grave  and  lost  in  thought. 

"Is  it  too  early  to  offer  felicitations,  my  friend?" 
said  the  Due  de  St.  Louis,  pausing  for  an  instant  as  he 
passed  out  to  go  homeward ;  he  had  been  playing  whist 
all  night. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  answered,  with  the 
tranquil  falsehood  of  society. 

The  question  annoyed  him  deeply.  He  loved  this 
woman  with  all  the  tenderness  and  passion  of  his 
temperament,  and  loved  her  the  more  for  the  ascend- 
ency he  had  gained  over  her  and  the  faults  that  he 
saw  in  her;  he  loved  her  generously,  truly,  and  with 
purer  desire  than  most  men.     Yet  what  v.'ould  his 


184  ^^  ^   WINTER   CITY. 

love  for  her  ever  look  to  the  world? — since  he  was 
poor. 

The  Lady  Hilda,  with  her  foir  hair  tumbled  about 
her  pillows,  and  her  gorgeous  cloth  of  gold  lying  >>n  a 
couch  like  a  queen's  robes  abandoned,  went  home  .lud 
slept  restlessly,  yet  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  some  few 
hours:  when  she  awoke  it  was  with  a  smile,  and  witii 
that  vague  sweet  sense  of  awakening  to  some  great  joy, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  precious  gifts  of  happiness , 
a  dreamful  misty  sense  of  expectation  and  recollections 
blending  in  one,  and  making  the  light  of  day  beautiful. 

She  lay  still  some  time,  awake,  and  yet  dreaming 
with  half-closed  eyelids,  and  her  thick  hair  loosened 
and  covering  her  shoulders,  and  the  sweet  scent  close 
at  hand  of  a  glassful  of  calycanthus  and  myrtle,  that 
she  had  been  very  careful  to  tell  them  to  set  near  her 
bed.  Lazily,  after  awhile,  she  rang  a  little  bell,  and 
bade  her  maids  open  her  shutters.  The  grand  light  of 
the  noonday  poured  into  the  chamber. 

"  Give  me  a  mirror,"  she  said  to  them. 

When  they  gave  her  one,  she  looked  at  herself  and 
smiled  again:  she  was  one  of  those  women  wdio  are 
lovely  when  they  wake  :  there  are  not  many. 

They  brought  her  her  chocolate,  and  she  sipped  a 
little  of  it,  and  lay  still,  looking  at  the  violets  and 
hearing  the  ringing  of  church-bells  from  across  the 
water :  she  was  happy ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  all  her 
life  before  had  not  been  happiness,  after  all ;  only 
pleasure. 

An  hour  later  her  maid  brought  her  a  telegram. 
She  opened  it  with  a  little  impatience.  Why  should 
anything  break  in  on  her  day-dream? 


IN  A   WINTER    CITY.  185 

It  merely  said  that  her  brother  was  in  Paris,  and 
would  come  onward,  and  be  with  her  that  night.  She 
let  the  paper  fall,  as  though  she  were  stung  by  an 
adder. 

It  recalled  to  her  what  she  had  forgotten. 


186  J^^  ^    WINTER    CITY. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Lord  Ci.airvaux  arrived  in  time  for  Madame 
Mila's  dinner.  He  was  an  affectionate  and  snnny- 
terapered  m.in  ;  he  did  not  notice  that  his  sister  did 
not  once  say  she  was  glad  to  see  him, 

Delia  Rocca  did  notice  it,  with  that  delicate  unerring 
Italian  perception,  which  is  as  fine  as  a  needle  and  as 
subtle  as  mercury. 

He  saw,  too,  that  something  had  come  over  her, — 
some  cloud,  some  change ;  she  had  lost  much  of  her 
proud  serenity,  and  she  looked  at  him  now  and  then 
with  what  seemed  to  him  almost  like  contrition  ;  she 
avoided  being  alone  with  him ;  he  was  troubled  at  it, 
l)ut  not  alarmed;  he  knew  very  well  that  she  loved 
him.     He  let  her  be. 

An  Italian  has  infinite  passion,  but  he  has  also  infi- 
nite patience  in  matters  o^^  love.  Nor  was  he,  now 
that  he  was  assured  of  his  power  over  her,  wholly 
content  to  use  it :  if  he  married  her,  the  world  would 
always  say  that  it  was  for  her  wealth.  That  means  of 
raising  his  own  fortunes,  which  had  seemed  to  him  so 
material  and  legitimate  all  his  life,  now  seemed  to  him 
unworthy  and  unmanly  since  he  had  grown  to  care  for 
her.  He  knew  that  such  riches  as  she  possessed  were 
precisely  those  with  which  he  had  always  intended  to 
rebuild  the  fallen  greatness  of  his  race ;  but  since  he 
had  loved  her  it  looked  very  different. 

The  charm  of  their  intercourse  to  him  was  the  as- 


7A^  A    WINTER    CITY.  187 

cendency  he  had  won  over  her,  the  power  that  he  had 
gained  to  lift  her  nature  to  a  higher  level :  where  would 
his  influence  be  when  he  had  once  stooped  to  enrich 
himself  by  its  means? 

These  fancies  saddened  him  and  checked  him,  and 
made  him  not  unwilling  to  linger  on  about  her,  in  all 
that  indistinct  sweetness  of  half-recognized  and  half- 
unsjwken  love. 

The  position,  uncertain  as  it  was,  had  its  charm :  he 
felt  that  this  woman,  with  all  her  insolence  and  indif- 
ference and  absorption  by  the  world,  was,  in  his  hands, 
only  a  creature  of  emotions  and  of  passions,  who  would 
flush  at  his  touch  and  grow  unnerved  under  his  gaze ; 
he  knew  that  he  was  very  dear  to  her,  since  had  it  not 
been  for  the  audacity  of  his  caresses  he  would  have  been 
driven  out  of  her  presence. 

"Ama  chi  t'ama  e  lascia  dir  la  gente,"  he  said  to 
himself,  in  the  wise  burden  of  the  people's  love-song ; 
and  he  let  destiny  go  as  it  would. 

Meanwhile,  she,  dissatisfied,  with  a  conscience  ill  at 
ease,  and  disinclined  to  look  into  the  future,  saw  him 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  but  avoided  seeing  him  alone, 
and  usually  had  her  brother  near. 

Lord  Clairvaux  could  only  stay  a  week,  and  wa? 
utterly  unconscious  that  his  presence  was  unwelcome ; 
he  was  taken  to  see  the  two  Arab  mares  of  Delia  Rocca; 
he  was  taken  to  Palestrina ;  he  was  taken  to  studios 
and  chapels,  which  had  no  more  interest  for  him  than 
they  would  have  had  for  a  setter  dog :  but  he  was  quite 
ignorant  of  why  he  was  taken. 

He  did  what  Lady  Hilda  told  him  to  do;  he  always 
did  when  he  and  she  were  together ;  he  was  a  simple, 


188  -^^^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

kindly,  honest  gentleman ;  avIio  regarded  England  as 
the  universe,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  as  a  mere 
accident.  His  sister's  contempt  for  her  conntry  and  his 
politics,  her  philosophy  of  indifferentism,  her  adoration 
of  primitive  art,  her  variable  disdain,  and  her  intellec- 
tual pharisaism  had  always  seemed  to  him  very  wonder- 
fill,  and  not  altogether  comfortable;  but  he  admired 
her  in  a  hopeless  kind  of  way,  and  it  was  not  in  his 
temper  to  puzzle  over  people's  differences  of  opinion  or 
character. 

"  Hilda  thinks  all  the  old  dead  fellows  were  gods, 
and  she  thinks  all  of  us  asses,"  he  would  say,  humbly. 
"  I  don't  know,  you  know :  she's  awfully  clever.  I 
never  was.  It  may  be  so;  only  I  never  will  believe 
that  England  is  used  up,  as  she  says;  and  I  like  the 
east  wind  myself;  and  what  she  can  see  in  those  saints 
she's  just  bought,  painted  on  their  ti])toes,  or  in  those 
old  crooked  pots ; — but  if  she'd  stayed  in  the  country, 
and  hunted  twice  a  week  all  winter,  you  know  she 
would  not  have  been  like  that." 

"  It  would  have  been  a  great  pity  had  Miladi  been 
anything  save  what  she  is,"  said  Delia  Rocca,  to  whom 
he  expressed  himself  in  this  manner,  in  such  French 
as  he  could  command,  and  who  was  amused  and  aston- 
ished by  him,  and  who  took  him  a  day's  wild-fowl- 
shooting  in  the  marshes,  and  a  day's  wild-boar-hunting 
in  the  next  province,  and  wondered  constantly  why  so 
kindly  and  gallant  a  gentleman  should  have  been  made 
by  the  good  God  so  very  stupid. 

"  Oh,  you  think  so ;  I  don't,"  said  Lord  Clairvaux. 
"Hilda  isn't  my  idea  of  a  happy  woman.  I  don't 
believe  she  is  hapj<y.     She  spends  half  her  life  think- 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  189 

ing  how  she  will  dress  herself;  and  why  will  they  dress 
now  like  the  ruffs  and  things  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and 
the  effigies  on  the  tombstones  ?  and  the  other  half  she 
spends  buying  things  she  never  looks  at,  and  ordering 
things  she  dislikes  when  they're  done,  and  reading 
books  that  make  her  think  her  own  countrymen  are  a 
mere  lot  of  blockheads  and  barbarians.  Not  that  I 
pretend  to  understand  her ;  I  never  did ;  only  I  think 
if  she  didn't  think  everybody  else  such  a  fool  she'd  be 
more  comfortable." 

Delia  Rocca  smiled. 

"  Pardon  me,  you  will  disturb  the  birds." 

Lord  Clairvaux  recollected  that  he  ought  not  to  talk 
of  his  sister  to  a  stranger,  and,  bringing  his  gun  to  his 
shoulder,  fired  into  a  covey  of  wild  ducks. 

"  What  a  handsome  fellow  that  is ! — like  an  old  pic- 
ture," he  thought  to  himself,  as  he  looked  at  Delia 
Rocca,  who  sat  in  the  prow  of  the  boat;  but  he  did  not 
connect  him  in  his  thoughts  with  Lady  Hilda  in  any 
way :  for  ten  years  he  had  got  so  tired  of  vainly  won- 
dering why  this  man  and  that  did  not  please  her,  and 
had  been  made  so  vexed  and  perplexed  by  her  rejection 
of  the  Prince  of  Deutschland,  that  he  had  ceased  to 
think  of  her  as  a  woman  who  could  possibly  ever  care 
for  anybody. 

One  night,  however,  when  he  had  been  there  five  days, 
he  was  walked  about  in  the  crowd  of  the  Veglione  by 
little  Madame  Mila,  masked,  and  draped  as  black  as  a 
little  beetle;  and  Madame  Mila,  who  was  getting  tired 
of  things  standing  still,  and  could  no  more  help  putting 
her  tiny  finger  into  all  kinds  of  pasties,  and  making 
mischief  in  a  kittenish  way,  than  she  could  help  going 


190  J^^  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

on  enameling  since  she  had  once  begun  it,  laughed  at 
him,  teased  him,  and  told  him  what  startled  him. 

"But  she  isn't  here,  and  he  is!"  he  gasped,  feebly,  in 
protest  at  what  he  had  heard,  gazing  over  the  motley 
tTowd. 

"  What  a  goose  you  are ! — as  if  that  showed  an)  thing  I 
They  can  meet  much  better  than  in  this  place,"  said 
Madame  Mila,  with  a  saucy  laugh. 

He  turned  on  her  with  a  heavy  frown. 

"Hang  it,  Mila!  you  don't  dare  to  mean " 

Madame  Mila  was  frightened  in  an  instant. 

"Oh,  dear,  no;  of  course  not;  only  I  do  assure  you 
they've  been  always  together  ever  since  I've  been  in 
Floral ia.     I  thought  you  knew " 

"  Damn  it,  no  ! "  he  muttered.  "  I  beg  your  pardon ; 
I  never  see  anything;  I  mean,  I'm  quite  sure  there's 
nothing  to  see." 

"Well,  ask  her,"  said  Madame  Mila:  then  she 
added,  sweetly,  "  You  know  I'm  so  fond  of  dear  Hilda; 
and  people  do  talk  so  horridly  here  for  nothing  at  all ; 
and  Italians  are  not  so  scrupulous  as  we  are." 

He  went  home  in  haste,  and  was  told  that  Miladi 
had  retired  to  bed  full  two  hours  before.  In  the  morn- 
ing he  sent  to  ask  when  he  could  see  her.  She  sent  back 
word  that  she  should  be  happy  to  see  him  at  breakfast 
at  twelve.  At  ten  he  received  a  telegram  from  his  wife 
asking  him  to  return,  because  his  eldest  boy,  Cheviot, 
was  unwell,  and  they  feared  typhoid  fever. 

"Damn  it  all,  what  a  worry!"  said  Lord  Clair- 
vaux  to  himself,  and  then  went  out  and  smoked  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  looked  over  the  stone  para- 
pet moodily. 


7 A'   A    WiyTEli    CITY.  191 

"Bon-jonr,  monsieur,"  a  soft  and  melodious  voice 
said,  passing  him. 

Delia  Rocca  was  driving  past  with  a  fiery  little  horse 
on  his  way  to  Palestrina.  Lord  Clairvaux  felt  inclined 
to  stop  the  horse;  but  what  could  he  say  if  he  did? 

What  a  nuisance  it  was,  he  thought;  but  what  could 
go  right  in  a  country  where  they  shot  their  foxes,  and 
called  their  brushes  tails,  and  hung  them  under  the  ears 
of  cart-mules  and  ponies? — a  country  where  they 
treated  the  foxes  as  they  did,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Holy 
Father,  must  be  a  land  of  malediction. 

He  smoked  through  two  great  cigars,  and  Avalked 
about  the  town  unhappily,  and  when  it  was  noon  went 
up-stairs  to  his  sister.  He  did  not  dare  to  go  a  mo- 
ment before  the  time. 

"Dear  Freddie,  is  it  you?"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 
listlessly ;  she  looked  very  lovely  and  very  languid,  in 
a  white  cashmere  morning  gown,  with  a  quantity  of 
lace  about  it,  and  her  hair  all  thrown  back  loosely  and 
tied  like  the  Venere  alia  Spina's. 

"I  have  to  go  away  by  the  night  train.  Poor  little 
Cheviot's  ill,"  he  said,  disconsolately,  as  he  took  her 
hand ;  he  never  ventured  on  kissing  her ;  years  before 
she  had  taught  him  that  such  endearments  were  very 
ridiculous  and  disagreeable. 

"  Dear  me  !  I  am  very  sorry.  Will  you  have  coffee, 
or  tea,  or  wine  ?"  she  asked,  absently,  as  she  went  to 
the  table  where  the  breakfast  was. 

"  Chevy's  very  ill,"  said  Lord  Clairvaux,  who 
thought  she  showed  small  sympathy.  "  You  used  to 
like  Chevy." 

"He  was  a  pretty  little  child.     I  hate  boys." 


192  IN  A    WINTER   CITV. 

"  You  wouldn't  if  you  had  them  of  your  own,"  said 
Lord  Clairvaux,  and  grumbled  inaudibly  as  he  took 
some  cutlets. 

Lady  Hilda  colored  a  little. 

"  I  have  really  not  imagination  enough  to  follow  you. 
Will  you  have  coffee  ?  I  hope  it's  nothing  serious  with 
Cheviot?" 

"  Fever,  his  mother  thinks :  any  way,  I  must  go.  I 
saw  your  friend  the  Duca  della  Rocca  this  morning : 
he  was  out  early." 

He  thought  this  was  approaching  the  subject  in  a 
masterly  manner. 

"  Italians  always  rise  early,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 
giving  him  his  cup. 

"And  he  was  at  the  Veglione  last  night " 

"  All  Italians  go  to  the  Veglione." 

"  You  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  him,  haven't  you  ?" 
asked  Lord  Clairvaux,  looking  at  her  across  the  table, 
And  thinking  how  pretty  all  that  white  was  which  she 
had  on,  and  what  a  difficult  person  she  was  to  begin 
anything  with ;  he  had  never  felt  so  nervous  since  the 
time  when  he  had  been  called  on  as  a  young  man  to 
move  the  Address  when  Parliament  opened. 

"  One  sees  a  great  deal  of  everybody  in  a  small  society 
like  this." 

'^  Because,  you  know,  people  talk  about  you  and  him : 
60  they  say,  at  least." 

"They  are  very  good,  whoever  they  are:  who  are 
they?" 

"  AVho?— Oh,  I  don't  know;  I  heard  so." 

"  How  very  nice  of  you  to  discuss  me  with  other 
po()])le  I" 


7.V  A    WINTER    CITV.  J  93 

Lord  Clairvaux  cast  a  glance  at  her,  and  was  very 
much  friglitened  at  the  oifense  he  saw  in  her  contempt- 
uous face.  How  pale  she  was  looking,  too,  now  he 
thought  of  it !  and  slie  had  shadows  underneath  her 
pyes  quite  new  to  her. 

"  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he  ?"  he  muttered.  "  He 
seemed  a  duffer  to  me  about  his  fields, — such  plows,  by 
heavens  ! — and  such  waste  in  the  stack-yards  /  never 
saw.  But  it  isn't  farming  here  at  all ;  it's  letting  things 
go  wild  just  anyhow " 

"  It  is  not  being  wiser  than  Nature,  and  sacrificing 
all  loveliness  to  greed, — if  you  mean  that,^'  said  Lady 
Hilda,  with  coldest  disdain,  "  The  life  here  has  still 
the  old  Theocritan  idyllic  beauty,  thank  heaven." 

"  Theocritus  ?  Oh,  I  know ;  I  never  could  construe 
him ;  but  I  do  know  a  straight  furrow  and  decently- 
kept  land  when  I  see  it.  But  I  say,  you  know,  I  don't 
wish  to  be  officious  or  anything,  but  do  you  think  it's 
wise  to  see  so  very  much  of  him  ?  You  know  he's  an 
Italian,  and  I  dare  say  hasn't  a  bit  of  principle,  nor  a 
penny  in  his  pocket." 

The  hazel  eyes  of  the  Lady  Hilda  flashed  golden 
beams  of  wrath. 

"  How  very  grateful  of  you ! — when  he  has  enter- 
tained you  to  the  best  of  his  al)ility,  and  went  out  of 
his  way  to  find  sport  for  you,  very  little  to  his  own 
pleasure,  moreover,  for  I  can  assure  you  his  soul  does 
not  lie  in  his  gun-barrel !" 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against  him,"  mur- 
mured Lord  Clairvaux,  who  was  the  most  grateful  and 
most  just  of  mortals.     "  He  was  very  kind  and  cour- 
teous, and  all  that;  and  I  don't  say  he's  a  bad  shot, — 
I  17  N 


194  ^^'  A    WINTER    CITV. 

though  he's  a  bad  farmer ;  and  he  is  an  awfully  good- 
looking  fellow,  like  an  old  picture,  and  all  that.  Only 
I  must  go  to-night,  Hilda,  and  I  do  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

"  You  are  speaking  all  this  time,  I  believe,"  sai<l 
Laly  Hilda,  icily,  looking  across  at  him  with  the  cold- 
est challenge  in  her  darkening  eyes. 

"  I  never  could  think  why  you  didn't  take  Deutsch- 
land,"  he  muttered,  reverting  to  an  old  grievance. 

"He  didn't  please  me.  Is  that  all  you  wanted  to 
say?" 

"  But  I  thought  you'd  have  cared  to  be  a  reigning 
sovereign  ?" 

"  Of  a  small  State  ?"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  with  au 
eloquent  lift  of  her  eyebrows. 

"  Well,  there  was  De  Ribeaupierre ;  he  was  every- 
thing anybody  could  want;  Vienna,  too.  I  used  to 
think  an  Ambassadress's  life  would  just  suit  you." 

"  Always  calling  on  people,  and  writing  notes?  No 
life  on  earth  more  tiresome." 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  be  an  Empress  ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no,"  answered  his  sister.  "I  have  known 
two  Empresses  intimately ;  and  it  is  a  career  of  great 
tedium  :  you  can  never  do  what  you  like." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  are  content  as  you  are?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  if  anybody  ever  is.  I  don't  think 
any  one  is.  I  never  met  anybody  Avho  was.  They  say 
pigs  are;  but  one  sees  so  little  of  pigs  that  one  can't 
make  much  psychological  study  of  them." 

Lord  Clairvaux  grumbled,  sighed,  and  took  his  cour- 
age d.  deux  mains. 

"Well,  never  mind  the  other  men, — they  are  past 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  I95 

and  gone,  poor  wretches:  what  do  you  mean  to  do 
about  this  one?" 

"  This  what  ?"  said  Lady  Hilda,  looking  languidly 
at  him  through  the  flowers  on  the  breakfast- table. 
She  knew  quite  well  what  he  meant. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  him?"  repeated 
Tiord  Clairvaux,  solemnly,  pushing  his  plate  away. 
"  It's  all  very  pretty,  I  dare  say, — Romeo,  and  moon- 
light, and  poetry,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  Italians 
are  the  deuce  and  all  for  that :  only  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  you'd  have  cared  for  it ;  and,  besides,  you 
know  it  can't  go  on  : — the  man's  a  gentleman,  that  I 
grant;  and,  by  heaven,  that's  a  great  deal  nowadays, 
such  blackguards  as  Ave're  getting, — three  card  scan- 
dals in  the  clubs  already  this  very  winter,  and  George 
Orme's  was  regular  sharping,  just  what  any  cad  might 
do,  by  Jove !  But  you  know  you  can't  go  on  with  it  ; 
you  can't  possibly  mean  it  seriously  :  now,  do  you  ?" 

Lady  Hilda  laughed  that  little,  cold,  contemptuous 
laughter  which  her  brother  always  shivered  under,  and 
which  Delia  Rocca  had  never  heard. 

"  I  don't  seriously  mean  to  cheat  at  cards !  My  dear 
Frederic,  you  must  say  what  you  mean,  if  you  mean 
anything  at  all,  a  little  more  clearly,  please.  Why  will 
all  Englishmen  get  their  talk  into  such  odd  confusion  ? 
I  suppose  it  comes  of  never  learning  grammar  at  Eton." 

"  Well,  hang  it,  then,  I'll  say  it  clearly,"  retorted 
Clairvaux,  with  some  indignation.  "Mila  tells  me  you 
and  this  Italian  that's  always  after  you  have  taken  a 
liking  to  one  another:  is  it  true? — and  what  do  you 
mean  to  do  with  him  ?     There !" 

He  was  horribly  frightened  when  he  had  said  it,  but 


196  I^'  ^    WTSTI'JIi    CITV. 

what  he  thought  was  his  duty,  that  he  did :  and  he 
conceived  it  to  be  his  duty  to  speak. 

All  the  blood  leaped  into  the  fair  face  of  the  Lady 
Hilda,  her  nostrils  dilated  in  a  fine  anger,  her  lips 
grew  pale. 

"  Mila  is  a  little  wretch  !"  she  said,  with  strong  pas- 
sion ;  then  was  still ;  she  was  too  generous  to  quote 
her  own  generosity,  or  urge  her  past  gifts  as  present 
claims.  "  She  is  a  little  fool !"  she  added,  with  bitter 
disdain.  "  And  how  can  you  cheapen  my  name  by 
listening  to  her  chattering  folly  ?  Besides,  what  have 
you  to  do  with  me? — or  what  has  she?  I  am  not 
used  to  dictation,  nor  to  interference." 

"  Oh,  I  Know,"  said  her  brother,  humbly.  "  And 
I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  sure,  and  all  that; — only, 
just  tell  me,  how  Avill  it  end?" 

"  How  will  what  end  ?" 

"  This  fancy  of  yours." 

Lady  Hilda  grew  very  pale. 

"  My  dear  Clairvaux,"  she  said,  with  chilliest  con- 
tempt, "  you  are  not  my  keeper,  nor  my  husband,  nor 
anything  else,  except  one  of  my  trustees.  I  do  not 
know  that  being  a  trustee  gives  you  a  title  to  be  imper- 
tinent. You  really  talk  as  you  might  to  your  game- 
keeper's daughter  if  you  thought  you  saw  the  girl 
Agoing  wrong.'  What  M.  Delia  Rocca  feels  for  me, 
or  I  for  him,  is  merely  sympathy  in  views  and  tastes. 
But  if  it  were  anything  else,  whose  business  would  it 
be?" 

Lord  Clairvaux  laughed. 

"  Yes  ! — ^you  are  a  likely  creature  to  inspire  friend- 
ship !     As  if  there  were  ever  a  woman  worth  looking 


JN  A    WINTER    CITV.  I97 

at  who  could  keep  a  man  at  that ! — Don't  let  us  fence 
about  it,  Hilda.  Perhaps  I  haven't  any  right  to  say 
anything ;  you're  your  own  mistress,  and  all  that,  and 
answerable  to  nobody.  Only,  can  you  deny  that  I  am 
your  brother  ?" 

"  I  have  always  understood  you  were.  I  confess  you 
make  me  regret  the  circumstance." 

"  Now,  that's  ill-natured,  very  ill-natured,"  lie  mur- 
mured, pathetically.  "  But  you  won't  make  me  quarrel. 
There  must  be  two  to  quarrel,  and  I  won't  be  one.  We 
have  always  been  good  friends,  more  than  good  friends. 
I  thought  I  was  the  only  j)erson  on  earth  you  did 
like " 

"  And,  like  every  one  else,  you  consider  that  the 
liking  you  inspire  confers  a  privilege  to  be  imperti- 
nent," said  his  sister,  with  all  that  disdainful  anger 
flashing  from  her  languid  eyes,  which  none  of  her 
family  ever  cared  very  much  to  meet. 

She  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and  was  moving  to 
and  fro  with  a  restless  controlled  impatience.  She 
remained  very  pale.  Clairvaux  kept  his  position  on 
the  hearth-rug,  with  a  dogged  good  humor  and  an  un- 
easy confusion  blended  together  which,  at  any  other 
time,  would  have  diverted  her. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  impertinent,"  he  said,  humbly, 
"though  hang  me  if  I  can  see  that  that's  a  natural 
sort  of  word  to  be  used  between  a  brother  and  sister. 
I  know  you're  a  mighty  great  lady,  and  ^a  law  to 
yourself,'  as  some  poet  says,  and  never  listen  to  any- 
body, and  always  go  your  own  ways,  and  all  that ;  but 
still,  if  you  never  speak  to  me  afterwards,  I  must  say 

what  I  want  to  say.     This  man  is  in  love  with  you ; 

17* 


198  ^-^'  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

it's  my  belief  you're  in  love  with  him, — Mila  saj'H  so, 
and  she  knows.  Now,  granted  that  it  is  so  (if  it  isn't, 
there's  nothing  to  be  angiy  about), — what  I  say  is, 
how  do  you  mean  it  to  end?     Will  you  marry  him?" 

Her  face  changed,  flushed,  and  then  grew  pale  again. 

"Of  course  not!     You  know  it  is  impossible!" 

"  Does  he  know  why  it  is  impossible  ?" 

"  No  :  why  should  he  ?  Really,  you  do  not  know 
what  you  are  talking  about.  You  are  interfering  in 
the  most  uncalled-for  manner  where  there  is  not  the 
slightest  necessity  for  any  interference." 

"  Then  you  are  letting  him  fall  in  love  with  you  in 
the  dark,  and  when  you  have  had  enough  of  the  sport 
will  throw  him  over?" 

"  You  grow  very  coarse,  Clairvaux.  Oblige  me  by 
drop|)ing  the  subject." 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  coarse.  That  is  what  you  are 
going  to  do.  You  accept  all  his  court  now,  and  then 
you'll  turn  round  on  him  some  fine  morning  and  say 
you've  had  enough  of  it.  At  least,  I  can't  see  what 
else  you  will  do, — since  you  cannot  marry  him.  You'll 
hardly  lower  yourself  to  Mila's  level  and  all  the  other 
women's, — by  heavens,  if  I  thought  you  would,  if  I 
thought  you  had  done,  I'd  soon  see  if  this  fellow  were 
as  fine  a  swordsman  as  they  say  !" 

Lady  Hilda  turned  her  face  full  on  him. 

"So  my  brother  is  the  first  person  that  ever  dared  to 
insult  me  ?"  she  said,  with  utmost  coldness,  as  she  rose 
from  the  breakfast-table  and  swept  his  feet  in  passing 
with  the  lace  that  fringed  the  hem  of  her  cashmere 
robes. 

She  gave  him  one  parting  look,  and  left  the  chamber. 


jy  A    WINTER    VITV.  199 

He  stood  cowed  by  the  golden  fire  of  those  superb 
imperious  hazel  eyes.  He  was  nervous  at  what  he  had 
done,  and  unhappy  and  perplexed.  He  stood  alone, 
pulling  at  his  fair  beard,  in  troubled  repentance.  He 
knew  what  her  wrath  would  be.  She  was  not  a  won.au 
who  quickly  forgave. 

"  I've  blundered  ;  I  always  do  blunder,"  he  thought 
sadly  to  himself.  "  She  must  care  awfully  about  him, 
to  be  so  angry." 

He  waited  all  alone  many  minutes.  He  was  sincerely 
sorry;  perhaps  he  had  been  coarse;  he  had  not  meant 
to  be;  only,  the  idea  of  her  talked  about,  and  with 
lovers  ! — -just  like  all  those  other  women  whom  their 
husbands  or  brothers  ought  to  strangle:  it  was  only  fash- 
ion, they  said,  only  the  way  of  the  world,  all  that 
immorality; — "Damn  the  world,"  he  said  to  himself, 
ruffling  his  beard  in  sad  bewilderment. 

He  scribbled  a  trite,  rough,  penitent  note,  and  sent  it 
to  her  by  her  maid.  They  brought  him  a  closed  envel- 
ope :  when  he  opened  it  he  found  only  his  own  note  in- 
side,— sent  back  without  any  word. 

Honest  Clairvaux's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"She'll  never  see  me  again  before  I  go  to-night,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  tossing  his  poor  little  rejected  mor- 
sel into  the  wood  fire.  "And  I  must  go  to-night, 
because  of  poor  little  Chevy.  How  horrid  it  is! — I 
couldn't  be  angry  like  that  with  her!" 

He  stood  some  moments  more,  knitting  his  fair  fresh 
forehead,  and  wishing  that  he  M'ere  less  stupid  in  man- 
aging things;  he  had  never  in  his  life  before  presumed 
to  condemn  and  counsel  his  sister;  and  this  was  the 
result ! 


200  -'^'V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

Suddenly  an  idea  struck  liim,  and  he  rose. 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  he  thought.  "  I  will  tell  him  him- 
self. And  then  I  shall  see  what  sort  of  stuff  he  is 
made  of; — I  can  fight  him  afterwards  if  he  don't  sat- 
i'jfy  me; — I'll  tell  him  as  if  I  suspected  nothing; — I  can 
make  an  excuse,  but  when  he  hears  it  he'll  show  what 
he's  made  of.  Oh,  Lord,  if  it  were  only  an  Englishman 
she'd  taken  a  liking  to ! — and  to  think  that  she's  treated 
half  the  best  men  in  Europe  as  if  they  were  only  so 
many  stones  under  her  feet !" 

With  a  groan,  Lord  Clairvaux  took  up  his  hat,  and 
went  forth  towards  the  Palazzo  della  Rocca. 

At  six  o'clock  that  evening  ho  had  to  take  his  de- 
parture without  seeing  his  sister  again.  He  went  away 
with  a  heavy  heart. 

"  How  extraordinary  she  is !"  he  thought.  "  Never 
even  to  ask  me  if  I  told  the  man  anything  or  not. 
And  never  to  bid  one  good-by !  Well,  I've  done  it  for 
the  best :  I  can't  help  it.  She'll  be  sorry  if  poor  little 
Chevy  should  die." 

But  the  boy  did  not  die ;  so  that  his  father  never 
learned  whether  that  event  would  have  touched  the 
heart  of  Lady  Hilda  or  not. 

All  the  following  day  she  shut  herself  up  in  her 
rooms.  She  said  she  was  ill ;  and,  in  truth,  she  felt 
so.  Della  Rocca  called  three  times  in  the  day,  but  she 
did  not  see  him  ;  he  sent  up  a  great  bouquet  of  the  pale 
yellow  tea-rose  of  which  she  was  so  fond ;  he  had  fas- 
tened the  flowers  together  with  an  antique  silver  zone  on 
which  was  the  Greek  Love  in  relief, — the  Love  of  the 
early  Hellenic  poets,  without  wings  and  with  a  mighty 
Kword,  tlic  Ijovc  of  Anacrcoii,  which  forges  the  soul  as 


JN  A    WINTER    CITY.  201 

a  smith  his  iron,  and  steeps  it  in  icy  waters,  after  many 
blows. 

She  understood  the  message  of  the  Love,  but  she 
sent  no  message  back. 

It  was  a  lovely  day ;  underneath  the  windows  the 
carriages  were  rolling;  there  was  the  smile  of  spring 
on  the  air  as  the  fleecy  clouds  went  sailing  past ;  she 
could  see  the  golden  reaches  of  the  river  and  the  hya- 
cinth-hued  hills  where  Palestrina  lay ;  her  heart  was 
heavy  ;  her  pulse  was  quick  ;  her  conscience  was  ill  at 
ease;  her  thoughts  were  restless  and  perturbed.  Soli- 
tude and  reflection  were  so  new  to  her ;  they  appalled 
her.  AVhen  she  had  been  unwell  before,  which  had 
been  but  seldom,  she  had  always  beguiled  herself  by 
looking  over  the  jewels  in  their  cases,  sorting  rare  old 
Marcantonios  and  Morghens,  skimming  French  feuille- 
tons,  or  planning  new  confections  for  her  vast  stores  of 
old  laces.  But  now  none  of  these  distractions  were  pos- 
sible to  her;  she  sat  doing  nothing,  weary,  feverish, 
and  full  of  a  passionate  pain. 

The  fact  which  her  brother  had  told  to  Delia  Rocca 
was,  that  if  she  married  again  all  her  riches  would  pass 
away  from  her. 

At  the  time  of  her  marriage  her  father  had  been 
deeply  involved  in  debt;  gambling,  racing,  and  debts 
of  every  other  kind  had  been  about  him  like  spiders' 
webs ;  the  great  capitalist,  Vorarlberg,  had  freed  him 
on  condition  of  receiving  the  hand  of  his  young  daugh- 
ter in  exchange.  She  was  allowed  to  know  nothing  of 
these  matters;  but  under  such  circumstances  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  family  to  be  exacting  as  regarded  settle- 
ments: she  was  abandoned  entirely  to  the  old  man's 
I* 


202  ^^"^^  ^  WJ\TEn  cJTi'. 

power.  Fortunately  for  lierself,  lie  was  taken  ill  on 
the  very  day  of  the  nuptials,  and,  after  a  lingering 
period  of  suffering,  died,  leaving  her  mistress  of  half 
of  one  of  the  finest  fortunes  in  Europe.  By  birth  he 
was  a  Wallachian  Jew,  brought  up  in  London  and 
Paris,  but  he  had  been  naturalized  in  England,  when  a 
youth,  for  commercial  objects,  and  the  disposition  of 
his  property  lay  under  his  own  control.  A  year  or 
two  after  his  death  a  later  testament  was  found  by  his 
lawyers,  still  leaving  her  the  same  wealth,  but  decree- 
ing that  in  the  event  of  her  second  marriage  everj'thing 
should  pass  away  from  her  to  the  public  charities,  save 
alone  her  jewels,  her  horses,  all  things  she  might  have 
purchased,  the  house  in  Paris,  which  had  been  a  gift, 
and  some  eight  hundred  a  year  ah-eady  secured  to  her. 
The  new  ^\ill  was  proved,  and  she  was  informed  that 
she  would  enjoy  her  foi'tune  only  by  this  tenure.  She 
was  indifferent.  She  was  quite  sure  that  she  would 
never  wish  to  marry  any  one.  She  loved  her  wealth 
and  spent  it  magnificently ;  and  when  men  whose  own 
position  would  have  made  the  loss  of  her  own  money 
of  no  moment  sued  at  her  feet,  she  still  repulsed 
them,  thinking  always,  "Le  mieux  est  I'ennemi  du 
bien." 

The  fact  of  this  later  will  was  scarcely  known  be- 
yond the  precincts  of  the  law  and  the  circle  of  their  own 
family;  but  since  she  had  met  Delia  Pocca,  the  remem- 
brance of  it  had  kept  her  awake  many  a  night,  and 
broken  roughly  many  a  day-dream. 

To  surrender  her  fortune  to  become  his  wife  never 
once  occurred  to  her  as  possible.  Ten  years'  enjoy- 
ment of  her  (i\'cry  whim  had  made  it  seem  so  inalienably 


IX  A    WIXTKR    CITV.  203 

hers.  She  couki  no  more  face  the  loss  of  her  fortune 
than  she  could  have  done  that  of  her  beauty. 

She  had  entered  so  early  into  her  great  possessiiins 
that  they  had  grown  to  be  a  very  part  of  her.  The  old 
man  who  had  been  her  husband  but  in  name  was  but  a 
mere  ghostly  shadow  to  her.  The  freedom  and  the 
self-indulgence  she  had  so  long  enjoyed  had  becom^^ 
necessary  to  her  as  the  air  she  breathed. 

It  was  not  the  mere  vulgar  vaunt  or  ostentation  of 
wealth  that  had  attraction  for  her ;  it  was  all  the  su- 
premacy, the  ease,  the  patronage,  the  habits,  that  great 
wealth  alone  makes  possible;  it  was  the  reign  which  she 
liad  held  throughout  Europe ;  it  was  the  charm  of  pei-- 
fectly  irresponsible  power.  To  give  up  these  and  hear 
the  cackle  of  all  the  fools  she  had  eclipsed  mo(!king  at 
her  weakness !     It  would  be  beyond  all  endurance. 

What  was  she  to  do  ? 

The  lax  moralities  of  the  women  of  her  time  were 
impossible  to  her  proud  and  loftier  character ;  arul,  be- 
sides, she  felt  that  a  woman  who  preferred  the  world 
to  him  would  not  find  in  Delia  Eocca  a  forgiving  or 
a  submissive  lover.  When  he  knew,  what  would  he 
say? 

She  turned  sick  at  the  thought.  After  all,  she  had 
played  with  him  and  deceived  him:  he  would  have  just 
cause  of  passionate  reproach  against  her.  His  love  had 
no  wings,  but  it  had  a  sword. 

"  Will  Miladi  be  able  to  dine?"  her  maid  asked  her, 
vaguely  alarmed  at  her  strange  stillness  and  the  great 
paleness  of  her  face. 

"  Was  I  to  dine  anywhere  ?"  she  said,  wearily. 

She  was  to  dine  at  the  Archduchess  Anna's.     The 


204  J^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

Archduchess  Anna  was  passing  through  Floralia  after 
three  months  at  Palermo  for  health,  and  was  staying  in 
strict  incognita,  and  infinite  glee,  as  the  Countess  Von 
Feffers,  at  the  Hotel  del  Re ;  enjoying  herself  endlessly, 
as  the  gay-hearted  lady  that  she  was,  even  indulging 
once  in  the  su])reme  delight  of  driving  in  a  cab,  and 
with  no  other  recognition  of  her  great  rank  than  con- 
sisted in  the  attendance  upon  her  of  the  handsomest  of 
the  king's  chamberlains. 

"Dress  me,  then,"  said  Lady  Hilda,  with  a  sigh. 
She  could  not  excuse  herself  to  the  archduchess,  whom 
she  had  known  intimately  for  years,  and  who  was  to 
leave  Floralia  in  a  week. 

"  What  dress  does  Madame  select?"  asked  her  maid. 

"  Give  me  any  you  like,"  she  answered  them. 

She  did  not  care  how  she  would  look  ;  she  would  not 
meet  him ;  she  knew  that  he  had  no  acquaintance  with 
the  imperial  lady. 

The  maids,  left  to  themselves,  gave  her  the  last  new 
one  from  Worth, — only  six  days  arrived ;  a  dress  en- 
tirely white,  with  knots  of  purple  velvet,  exactly  copied 
from  a  picture  of  Boucher's,  and  with  all  the  grace  of 
dead  Versailles  in  its  folds.  She  put  a  rococo  necklace 
on,  with  a  portrait  of  Maria  Theresa  in  it,  and  went 
listlessly  to  the  dinner  ;  she  was  not  thinking  about  her 
appearance  that  night,  or  she  would  have  said  that  she 
was  too  pale  to  wear  all  that  white. 

"  Goodness  me,  Hilda,  how  ill  you  do  look !"  said 
Madame  Mila,  meeting  her  on  the  stairs,  and  who  was 
going  also. 

"  No,  thanks,  I  won't  drive  with  you ;  two  women 
can't  go  in  a  carriage  without  one  being  chiffonnee. 


7iV  A    WINTER    CITY.  205 

That's  an  exquisite  toilette ;  that  white  brocade  is  de- 
licious,— stamped  with  the  lilies  of  France, — very 
pretty ;  only  you're  too  pale  for  it  to-night,  and  it's  a 
pity  to  wear  it  only  for  the  archduchess.  She  never 
knows  what  anybody's  got  on  their  backs.  Is  anything 
the  matter,  dear?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world." 

"  Then  you  must  have  got  a  headache.  You  cer- 
tainly do  look  very  ill.  I  do  so  hope  we  shall  get  away 
in  time  for  the  Veglione.  It's  the  very  last  night,  you 
know.  I  had  such  fun  last  time.  I  intrlgue'd  heaps 
of  people,  and  Doggendorff  I  drove  wild ;  I  told  him 
everything  about  his  wife  and  Lelio  Castelpucci,  and 
all  against  himself  that  she'd  ever  told  me.  It  was 
such  fun :  he'd  not  an  idea  who  I  was,  for  Avhen  we 
were  at  supper  he  came  running  in  breathless  to  tell  us 
of  a  horrible  little  mask  with  a  voice  like  a  macaw's ; 
— ^you  know  I'd  put  a  pebble  under  my  tongue." 

"  Very  dangerous  pastime,  and  a  very  vulgar  one," 
said  the  Lady  Hilda,  descending  the  staircase.  "  How 
can  you  go  down  into  that  horrible  screeching  mob, 
Mila  ?     It  is  so  very  low." 

"  My  dear,  I  go  anywhere  to  amuse  myself,  and 
Maurice  was  always  near  me,  you  know,  so  if  I  had 
l)een  insulted There's  eight  o'clock  striking." 

The  Hotel  del  Ee  was  but  ten  minutes'  drive  along 

the  famous  river-street,  which  has  such  an  Arabian- 

Nights-like  beauty  when  the  lamps  are  lighted,  and 

gleam  in  long  lines    adown   each  shore,   and    mirror 

themselves  in  the  water,  whilst  dome  and  bell-tower 

and  palace-roof  raise  themselves  darkly   against  the 

steel-blue  sky  of  the  night. 

18 


20G  J^  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

The  archduchess  had  been  spending  a  long  day  in 
the  galleries,  studying  art  under  the  guidance  of  the 
handsome  chamberlain ;  she  was  hungry,  happy,  and 
full  of  the  heartiest  spirits ;  she  was  a  very  merry  and 
good-natured  person,  about  five-and-forty  years  old,  fat 
and  fair,  very  badly  dressed,  and  very  agreeable,  with 
a  frank  laugh,  and  a  strong  love  of  humor ;  she  had 
had  more  escapades  than  any  princess  in  Europe,  and 
had  smoked  more  cigars  than  a  French  newspaper- 
writer,  and  had  married  more  daughters  to  German 
cousins  than  anybody  else  in  the  Almanach  de  Gotha. 

Had  she  been  any  lesser  being.  Society  would  have 
turned  its  back  on  her ;  but,  being  Avho  she  was,  her 
nod  was  elevation,  and  her  cigar  ash  honor ; — and,  to 
do  her  justice,  she  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  crea- 
tures in  all  creation. 

"  Ma  chere,  you  are  lovelier  than  ever  ! — and  how 
do  you  like  this  place? — and  is  the  dear  little  pug  alive? 
I  lost  my  sweet  Zaliote  of  asthma  in  Palermo,"  said 
the  archduchess,  welcoming  the  Lady  Hilda,  as  she  did 
everything,  with  ardor. 

Lady  Hilda,  answering,  felt  her  colorless  cheeks 
grow  warm :  in  the  circle  standing  round  she  recog- 
nized Delia  Rocca.  The  archduchess  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  the  look  of  him  in  the  street,  and  had  bidden 
the  chamberlain  present  him,  and  then  had  told  him  to 
come  to  dinner :  she  liked  to  surround  herself  with 
handsome  men.  From  Madame  Mila  he  had  learned 
in  the  morning  that  her  cousin  would  dine  there  at 
night. 

Madame  Mila  concluded  in  her  own  mind  that 
Freddie  had  had  a  row  with  his  sister  upon  the  matter, 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  207 

but  that  Delia  Rocea  had  had  nothing  said  to  hira 
about  it  by  either  of  them.  Madame  Mila  concluded 
also  that  Hilda  had  grown  sensible,  and  was  doing  like 
other  women  ;  though  why  she  looked  so  ill  about  it, 
Madame  Mila  could  not  imagine.  Madame  Mila  did 
not  comprehend  scruples. 

It  was  very  painful,  for  instance,  to  be  allied  to  any 
one  of  the  Greek  Church,  and  a  great  grief  to  the  Holy 
Father ;  but  still  it  was  very  nice  to  be  married  to  a 
schismatic,  because  it  enabled  you  to  go  to  balls  a  fort- 
night longer:  if  it  was  still  your  husband's  carnival, 
you  know,  nobody  could  say  anything. 

Madame  Mila  thought  you  should  always  do  your 
best  to  please  everybody,  but  then  you  should  take  care 
that  you  pleased  yourself  first  most  of  all.  The  world 
was  easy  enough  to  live  in  if  you  did  not  worry :  tliere 
were  always  unpaid  bills  to  be  sure,  and  they  were 
odious.  But  then  Hilda  never  had  any  unpaid  bills ; 
so  she  never  could  have  anything  to  annoy  her. 

Apropos  of  bills,  she  hoped  Delia  Rocca  would  not 
use  his  influence  with  her  cousin  so  as  to  prevent  her 
paying  other  people's  bills.  Of  course  he  wouldn't  do 
this  just  as  present ;  but  when  men  had  been  lovers  a 
little  while,  they  always  turned  the  poetry  into  prose, 
and  grew  very  nearly  as  bad  as  husbands. 

Madame  Mila  watched  them  narrowly  all  through 
dinner. 

"  If  I  thought  he'd  make  her  stingy,  I'd  make  her 
jealous  of  Giulia  Malatesta  to-morrow,"  she  thought 
to  herself  Madame  Mila  on  occasion  had  helped  or 
hindered  circumstance  among  her  friends  and  enemies 
with   many  ingenious   little   devices,  and   lucky   little 


208  I^  A    WINTER    CITY. 

anonymous  notes,  and  other  innocent  sliifits  and  strat- 
agems. It  was  no  use  being  in  the  world  at  all  unless 
you  interfered  with  the  way  it  went :  to  be  a  mere 
puppet  in  the  hands  of  Fate,  with  the  strings  of  acci- 
dent dangling  to  and  fro,  seemed  to  her  clever  little 
brain  quite  unworthy  the  intelligence  of  woman. 

She  never  meant  to  do  any  harm, — oh,  never;  only 
she  liked  things  to  go  as  she  wished  them.  Who  does 
not  ?  If  a  few  men  and  women  had  been  made  wretched 
for  life,  and  people  who  loved  one  another  devotedly 
had  been  parted  forever,  and  suspicion  and  hatred  crept 
into  the  place  of  trust  and  tenderness  in  certain  house- 
holds, Madame  Mila  could  not  help  that,  any  more 
than  one  can  help  other  people  being  splashed  with 
mud  when  one  drives  down  a  lane  in  bad  weather.  And 
nobody  ever  thought  Madame  Mila  could  do  any  harm, 
— pretty,  good-natured,  loquacious  little  Madame  Mila, 
running  about  with  her  little  rose-buds  at  fancy  fairs, 
and  saying,  so  sweetly,  "Pour  nos  pauvres, — pour  nos 
chers  pauvres !" 

"  The  best  little  woman  in  the  world,"  as  everybody 
said, — Madame  Mila  would  kiss  her  female  enemies  on 
both  cheeks  wherever  she  met  them,  and  when  she  had 
sent  an  anonymous  letter  (for  fun),  always  sent  an  in- 
vitation to  dinner  just  after  it,  to  the  same  direction. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  it  is  really  between  them,"  she 
thought  at  the  archduchess's  dinner-table,  divided  be- 
tween her  natural  desire  to  see  her  cousin  let  fall  that 
"white  flower  of  a  blameless  life,"  which  stinks  as 
garlic  in  the  nostrils  of  those  who  have  it  not,  and  her 
equally  natural  apprehension  that  Paolo  della  Rocca 
as  ?  lover  would  not  let  his  mistress  pay  other  per- 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  209 

sons'  debts,  and  Avould  also  be  sure  to  see  all  her 
letters. 

"She'll  tell  him  everything  about  everybody,"  thought 
Madame  INIila,  uncomfortably ;  for  Delia  Rocca  had  a 
look  in  his  eyes  of  assured  happiness,  which,  to  the 
astute  experience  of  Madame  Mila,  suggested  volumes. 

Meantime  she  was  also  harassed  by  the  apprehension 
that  she  would  not  be  able  to  withdraw  in  time  for  the 
Veglione,  where  Maurice,  a  baignoir,  and  a  supper- 
table  awaited  her.  If  the  archduchess  should  sit  down 
to  play  of  any  sort,  hope  was  over,  escape  would  be  im- 
possible till  daydawn ;  and  Madame  Mila  hated  play- 
ing with  the  archduchess ;  she  was  afraid  to  cheat,  and 
was  obliged  to  pay. 

With  all  the  ingenuity,  therefore,  of  which  she  was 
mistress,  she  introduced  the  idea  of  the  Veglione  into 
the  mind  of  her  hostess,  and  so  contrived  to  fascinate 
her  with  the  idea  that  the  archduchess,  who  had  gone 
in  her  time  to  five  hundred  public  masked  balls,  was 
as  hotly  animated  into  a  desire  to  go  to  this  one  as 
though  she  had  been  just  let  out  of  a  convent  at 
eighteen  years  old. 

Madame  Mila  delightedly  placed  her  baignoir  at  the 
disposition  of  her  imperial  highness,  and  her  imperial 
highness  invited  all  her  guests  to  accompany  her.  Such 
invitations  are  not  optional ;  and  Lady  Hilda,  who 
hated  noise  as  her  horses  hated  masks,  was  borne  oif 
by  the  mirthful,  chattering,  and  gay -hearted  lady,  who 
had  no  objection  to  noise,  and  loved  fun  and  riot  like  a 
street-boy. 

Lady  Hilda  thought  a  veglione,  and  a  liking  for  it, 
both  beneath  contempt;  yet  she  was  not  unwilling  to 

18*  0 


210  ^^  ^1    WINTER    CITY. 

avoid  all  chance  of  being  alone  with  Delia  Rocca  even 
for  a  moment.  She  knew  what  he  would  say  :  his  eyes 
Jiad  said  it  all  the  evening  a  thousand  times. 

The  Archduchess  Anna  and  Madame  Mila  were  both 
in  the  very  highest  spirits ;  they  had  taken  a  good  deal 
of  champagne,  as  ladies  will,  and  had  smoked  a  good 
deal  and  got  thirsty,  and  had  more  champagne  with 
some  seltzer  water,  and  the  result  was  the  highest  of 
high  spirits.  Nothing  could  be  more  appropriate  to  a 
veglione. 

As  no  reasonable  being  could  stay  by  choice  in  one 
for  an  hour,  it  is  strongly  advisable  that  reason  should 
be  a  little  dethroned  by  a  very  dry  wine  before  entering 
the  dingy  paradise.  Of  course  nobody  ever  sees  great 
ladies  "  the  worse  for  wine :"  they  are  only  the  better, 
as  a  Stilton  cheese  is. 

Happy  and  hilarious,  shrouded  and  masked  beyond 
all  possibility  of  identification,  and  ready  for  any  ad- 
venture, the  Archduchess  Anna  was  no  sooner  in  the 
box  than  she  was  out  of  it,  and  declared  her  intention 
of  going  down  into  the  crowd.  Madame  Mila,  only 
too  glad,  went  with  her,  and  some  half-dozen  men 
formed  their  escort.  Lady  Hilda  excused  herself  on 
the  plea  of  a  headache, — a  plea  not  untrue, — and,  alone 
with  the  Due  de  St.  Louis,  awaited  the  return  of  her 
hostess.  She  had  only  put  on  her  mask  for  entry,  and 
had  now  laid  it  beside  her ;  she  threw  aside  her  domino, 
for  the  heat  of  the  box  was  stifling,  and  the  whiteness 
of  her  dress  shone  as  lilies  do  at  moonlight.  She  leaned 
her  cheek  on  her  hand,  and  looked  down  on  to  the 
romping,  screaming,  many-colored  throng. 

"You  are  not  well  to-night,  madame?"  said  the  Due, 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  211 

with  the  affectionate  solicitude  that  he  felt  for  all  pretty 
women. 

He  was  puzzled  as  to  how  her  relations  could  stand 
with  Delia  Rocca :  the  previous  night  he  had  thought 
everything  settled,  but  now  he  did  not  feel  quite  so 
sure. 

"  The  archduchess  is  so  noisy  ;  it  always  gives  me  a 
headache  to  dine  with  her,"  said  Lady  Hilda.  "  She  is 
very  good-natured,  but  her  talking  is !" 

"  She  is  an  admirable  heavy  dragoon,  maiique,"  said 
the  Due.  "  Most  good-natured,  as  you  say,  but  trying 
to  the  tympanum  and  the  taste.  So  Clairvaux  left  last 
night?" 

"  Yes :  Cheviot  was  taken  ill." 

"I  should  have  thought  it  M'as  a  racer  taken  ill,  by 
the  consternation  he  seemed  to  be  in.  I  saw  him  for  a 
moment  only." 

She  was  silent,  watching  the  whirling  of  the  pierrots, 
harlequins,  scaramouches,  and  dominoes,  who  were 
shrieking  and  yelling  in  the  throng  below. 

"I  think  he  liked  his  shooting  with  Paolo?"  said 
the  Due,  at  a  hazard. 

"  He  likes  shooting  anywhere." 

"  Certainly  there  is  something  wrong,"  thought  the 
Due,  stooping  a  little  to  look  at  her  brocaded  white 
lilies.  "  What  an  exquisite  toilette  ! — is  one  permitted 
to  say  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !"  said  the  Lady  Hilda,  petulantly. 
"  The  incessant  talk  about  dreas  is  so  tiresome  and  so 
vulgar:  the  women  who  want  their  costumes  praised 
are  women  who  have  only  just  begun  to  dress  tolerably 
and  are  still  not  (piite  sure  of  the  effects." 


212  /^V  A    WINTER    CITV. 

"  You  are  right,  as  always,"  said  tlie  Due,  with  a 
little  bow  and  a  little  smile.  "  But  now  and  then  per- 
fection surprises  us  into  involuntary  indiscretion.  You 
must  not  be  too  severe." 

"  Somebody  should  be  severe,"  she  said,  contemptu- 
ously. "  Society  is  a  Battle  of  the  Frogs,  for  rivality 
in  dress  and  debt." 

The  Due  laughed. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it,  madame, — you  who 
are  as  above  rivals  as  above  debts  ?  By  the  way,  you 
told  me  you  wanted  some  old  Pesaro  vases.  I  found 
some  yesterday  at  Biangini's  shop  that  might  please 
you  ;  they  come  out  of  an  old  pharmacy  in  Verona, — 
perhaps  the  very  jiharmacy  of  Romeo's  apothecary; 
and  tiiere  are  some  fine  old  pots  too " 

"  I  am  tired  of  buying  things." 

"The  weariness  of  empire! — nothing  new.  You 
must  take  to  keeping  hens  and  chickens,  as  the  Em- 
peror John  Vatices  did.  How  does  Camille  Odissot 
succeed  with  your  ball-room  frescoes?" 

"  I  have  no  idea.     Very  ill,  I  dare  say." 

"Yes,  it  is  a  curious  thing  that  we  do  not  succeed  in 
fresco.  The  grace  is  gone  out  of  it ;  modern  painters 
liave  not  the  lightness  of  touch  necessary;  they  are 
used  to  masses  of  color,  and  they  use  the  palette-knife 
as  a  mason  the  trowel.  The  art,  too,  like  the  literature 
of  our  time,  is  all  detail :  the  grand  suggestive  vague- 
ness of  the  Greek  drama  and  of  the  Umbrian  frescoes 
is  lost  to  us  under  a  crowd  of  elaborated  trivialities ; 
perhaps  it  is  because  art  has  ceased  to  be  spiritual  or 
tragic,  and  is  merely  domestic  or  melodramatic;  the 
Greeks  knew  neither  domesticity  nor  melodrama,  and 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  213 

the  early  Italian  painters  were  imbued  Avith  a  faith 
which,  if  not  so  virile  as  the  worship  of  the  Phidian 
Zeus,  yet  absorbed  them  and  elevated  them  in  a  degree 
impossible  in  the  tawdry  Sadduceeism  of  our  own  day. 
By  the  way,  when  the  weather  is  milder  you  must  go 
to  Orvieto ;  you  have  never  been  tliere,  I  think  ;  it  is 
the  Prosodion  of  Signorelli.  What  a  fine  Pagan  he 
was  at  heart !  He  admired  masculine  beauty  like  a 
Greek ;  he  must  have  been  a  singularly  happy  man, — 
few  more  happy " 

The  Due  paused  as  the  handle  of  the  door  turned  ; 
he  was  only  talking  because  he  saw  that  she  was  too 
weary  or  too  languid  to  talk  herself;  the  door  opened, 
and  Delia  Pocca  entered  the  box  again,  having  escaped 
from  the  archduchess. 

"  We  were  sjieaking  of  Orvieto ;  you  know  more  of 
it  than  I  do.  I  was  telling  Miladi  that  she  must  go 
there  about  Easter-time,"  said  the  Due,  hunting  for  his 
crush  hat  beneath  the  chair.  "  Take  my  seat,  mon  cher, 
for  a  moment ;  I  see  Salvareo  in  the  crowd,  and  I  must 
speak  to  him  about  her  imperialissima's  supper.  I  shall 
be  back  in  an  instant." 

He  departed,  with  no  intention  of  returning,  and 
was  assailed  in  the  corridor  by  a  party  of  masks,  who 
bore  him  off  gayly  between  them  down  the  staircase 
into  the  laughing,  screaming,  and  capering  multi- 
tude. 

Delia  Rocca  did  not  take  his  chair,  but  sank  into 
the  seat  behind  her,  while  his  hand  closed  on  hers. 

"  Will  you  not  even  look  at  me?"  he  murmured. 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  and  put  her  mask  on,  slip- 
ping its  elastic  round  her  delicate  cars. 


214  -^^V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

"  Plow  the  crowd  yells  !"  she  said,  impatiently.  "  Will 
the  archduchess  stay  there  long,  do  you  think?" 

With  gentlest  audacity  and  softest  skill  he  had  slipped 
off  the  mask  and  had  laid  it  behind  him  before  she  had 
realized  what  he  was  doing.  His  hand  had  touched  her 
as  lightly  as  though  a  feather  brushed  a  rose. 

She  rose  in  amazed  anger,  and  turned  on  him  coldly. 

"  M.  della  Rocca !  how  dare  you  presume  so  far  ? 
Give  me  ray  mask  at  once " 

"  No,"  he  said,  softly,  and  he  took  hold  of  her  hands 
and  drew  her  towards  the  back  of  the  box,  where  no 
eyes  could  reach  them,  and  knelt  down  before  her  as 
she  sat  there  in  the  dusky  shadow  of  the  dark-red 
draperies. 

"Oh,  my  love — my  love!"  he  murmured;  that  was 
all ;  but  his  arms  stole  about  her,  and  his  head  drooped 
till  his  forehead  rested  on  her  knees. 

For  the  moment  she  did  not  repulse  him ;  she  did 
not  stir  nor  speak ;  she  yielded  herself  to  the  embrace, 
mute  and  very  pale,  and  moved  to  a  strange  tumult  of 
emotion,  whether  of  anger  or  of  gladness  she  scarcely 
knew. 

He  lifted  his  head,  and  his  eyes  looked  into  hers  till 
her  own  could  look  no  longer. 

"You  love  me?"  he  whispered  to  her,  whilst  his 
arms  still  held  her  imprisoned. 

She  was  silent;  under  the  purple  knot  of  velvet  at 
her  breast,  he  saw  her  heart  heave,  her  breath  come 
and  go;  a  hot  color  flushed  over  all  her  face,  then 
faded,  and  left  her  again  pale  as  marble. 

"  It  were  of  no  use  if — if,  I  did,"  she  muttered, 
"  You  forget  yourself.     Leave  me." 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  215 

But  he  knelt  there,  looking  at  her  till  the  look 
seemed  to  burn  her  like  flame;  yet  she  did  not  rise, 
— she,  the  very  hem  of  whose  garment  no  man  before 
him  had  ever  dared  to  touch. 

'•You  love  me!"  he  murmured,  and  said  the  samo 
thing  again  and  again  and  again,  in  all  the  various 
eloquence  of  passion.  She  trembled  a  little  under  his 
close  caress ;  the  dusky  red  of  the  box  whirled  around 
her ;  the  shouting  of  the  multitude  below  beat  like  the 
sound  of  a  distant  sea  on  her  ears. 

As  he  kneeled  at  her  feet  she  touched  his  forehead 
one  moment  with  her  hand  in  a  gesture  of  involuntary 
tenderness. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  she  said,  faintly,  again.  "  You 
^o  not  understand ;  you  do  not  know." 

"Yes,  I  do  know,"  he  answered  her. 

*'Y^ouknow!" 

"  Yes :  your  brother  told  rae." 

"And  yet?" 

"  Since  Ave  love  one  another,  is  not  that  enough  ?" 

She  breathed  like  a  person  suffocated;  she  loosened 
herself  from  his  arms,  and  drew  away  from  him,  and 
rose. 

"  It  makes  no  change  in  you,  tlien ! "  she  said,  won- 
deringly,  and  looked  at  him  through  a  blinding  mist, 
and  felt  sick  and  weary  and  bewildered,  as  she  had 
never  thought  it  possible  to  feel. 

"Chano;e  in  me?  What  change?  save  that  I  am 
freer  to  seek  you, — tbat  is  all.  Oh,  my  empress,  my 
angel! — is  not  love  enough?  Has  your  life  without 
love  contented  you  so  well  that  you  fear  to  face  love 
alone?" 


216  I^'  A    WINTER    CITV. 

He  still  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  kissed  her  hands  and 
her  dress,  as  he  spoke;  he  looked  upward  at  the  pale 
beauty  of  her  face. 

She  shivered  a  little,  as  with  cold. 

"That  is  folly,"  she  muttered.  "You  must  know  it 
is  of  no  use.     I  could  not  live — poor." 

The  word  stung  him:  he  rose  to  his  feet;  he  was  si- 
lent. After  all,  what  had  he  to  offer  her?  he  loved  her : 
that  was  all. 

She  loosened  the  chain  about  her  throat,  and  looked 
away  beyond  him  at  the  lights  of  the  theatre.  AVith 
an  effort  she  recovered  her  old  indifferent  cold  manner. 

"You  have  forgotten  yourself :  it  is  all  folly:  you 
must  know  that:  you  surprised  me  into — weakness — 
for  a  moment.  But  it  is  over  now.  Give  me  my 
mask,  and  take  me  to  the  carriage." 

"]v^o!" He  leaned  against  the  door,  and  looketl 

down  on  her:  all  the  rapture  of  expectancy  and  of  tri- 
umph had  faded  from  his  face;  the  pallor  and  suffering 
of  a  great  passion  were  on  it;  he  had  knoAvn  that  she 
loved  the  things  of  the  world,  but  he  had  believed  that 
she  loved  him  more. 

He  was  undeceived.  He  looked  at  this  beautiful 
woman,  with  the  gold  chain  loosed  about  her  throat, 
and  the  white  brocaded  lilies  gleaming  in  the  gloom, 
and  only  by  a  supreme  effort  did  he  subdue  the  bitterness 
and  brutality  which  lie  underneath  all  strong  passions. 

"One  moment!"  he  said,  as  she  moved  to  reach  the 
door.     "Can  you  say  you  have  no  love  for  me?" 

Her  color  varied. 

"What  is  the  use?     Give  me  my  mask." 

"Can  you  say  you  do  not  love  me?" 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  217 

She  hesitated;  she  wished  to  lie,  and  could  not. 

"I  did  not  say  that,"  she  murmured.     "Perhaps  if 
things  were  different But  as  it  is — it  is  no  use." 

The  half-confession  sufficed :  it  loosened  his  lips  to 
passionate  appeal ;  M'ith  all  the  eloquence  natural  to 
him  and  to  his  language,  he  poured  out  on  her  all  the 
supplication,  all  the  entreaty,  all  the  persuasion,  that 
he  was  master  of;  he  lavished  every  amorous  endear- 
ment that  his  language  held;  he  painted  the  joys  of 
great  and  mutual  love  with  a  fervor  and  a  force  that 
shook  her  like  a  whirlwind ;  he  upbraided  her  with  her 
caprices,  with  her  coldness,  with  her  selfishness,  till  the 
words  cut  her  like  sharp  stripes;  he  besought  her  by  the 
love  with  which  he  loved  her,  till  the  voluptuous  sweet- 
ness of  it  stole  over  all  her  senses,  and  held  her  silent 
and  enthralled. 

He  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  held  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Does  your  life  content  you  ?"  he  said  at  the  last. 
"  Can  greatness  of  any  sort  content  a  woman  without 
love?  Can  any  eminence,  or  power,  or  possession 
make  her  happiness  without  love?  Say  that  I  am 
poor, — that  coming  to  me  you  would  come  to  what  in 
your  sight  were  poverty :  is  wealth  so  great  a  thing 
measured  against  the  measureless  strength  of  passion  ? 
Are  not  the  real  joys  of  our  lives  things  unpurchasable? 
Oh,  my  love,  my  love !  If  you  had  no  preference  for 
me,  I  were  the  vainest  fool  to  urge  you ;  but,  as  it  is, 
does  the  world  that  tires  you,  the  society  that  wearies 
you,  the  men  and  women  who  fatigue  you,  the  adula- 
tion that  nauseates  you,  the  expenditure  that  after  all  is 
but  a  vulgarity  in  your  sight,  the  acquisition  that  has 
lost  its  charm  for  you  with  long  habit,  like  the  toys  of 


218  I^^  ^   WINTER   ciTr. 

a  child, — are  all  those  tilings  so  supreme  with  you  that 
you  can  sond  me  from  you  for  their  sake?  Is  not  one 
hour  of  mutual  love  worth  all  the  world  can  give  ?" 

His  arms  held  her  close,  he  drew  her  down  to  him 
nearer  and  nearer  till  his  head  rested  on  her  breast  and 
lie  felt  the  tumultuous  throbbing  of  her  heart.  For  one 
moment  of  scarce  conscious  weakness  she  did  not  resist 
or  repulse  him,  but  surrendered  herself  to  the  spell  of 
his  power.  He  moved  her  as  no  mortal  creature  had 
ever  had  strength  to  do;  a  whole  world  unknown 
opened  to  her  with  his  touch  and  his  gaze ;  she  loved 
him.     For  one  moment  she  forgot  all  else.  J< 

But  all  the  while,  even  in  the  temporary  oblivion  to 
which  she  had  yielded,  she  never  dreamed  of  granting 
what  he  prayed. 

The  serenity  and  pride  in  her  were  shaken  to  their 
wots;  she  was  humbled  in  her  own  sight;  she  was 
ashamed  of  the  momentary  delirium  to  which  she  had 
abandoned  herself;  she  strove  in  vain  to  regain  com- 
posure and  indiiference :  come  what  would,  he  was  near 
to  her  as  no  other  man  had  ever  been. 

She  drew  her  domino  about  her  with  a  shudder, 
thouo-h  the  blood  coursed  like  fever  in  her  veins. 

"  You  must  hate  me, — or  forget  me,"  she  murmured, 
as  she  tried  to  take  her  mask  from  his  hand.  "  You 
know  it  is  no  use.  I  could  not  live — poor.  Perhaps 
you  are  right ;  all  those  things  are  habits,  follies,  ego- 
tisms,— oh,  perhaps.  But,  such  as  they  are,  -such  a.  I 
am, — I  could  never  live  without  them." 

He  stood  erect,  and  his  face  grew  cold. 

"  That  is  your  last  word,  madame  ?" 

"  Yes.     AVhat  else  should  I  say  ?     No  other"— her 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  219 

voice  faltered  a  moment,  and  grew  very  weak,  "no 
other  man  will  ever  be  anything  to  me,  if  that  content 
you.     But  more  is  impossible." 

He  bowed  low  in  silence,  and  gave  her  up  her  mask. 

She  felt  afraid  to  look  up  at  his  face. 

The  door  opened  on  them  noisily;  the  archduchess 
and  Madame  Mila  were  returning  to  refresh  themselves 
with  their  supper  ere  descending  again  to  fresh  diver- 
sions. Behind  them  came  the  Due  de  St.  Louis  and 
all  the  men  of  their  party,  and  their  servants  with  the 
trestles  for  the  setting  of  the  table  in  their  box. 

They  were  fuller  than  ever  of  laughter,  mirth,  high 
spirits,  and  riotous  good  humor ;  their  white  teeth 
shone  under  the  lace  of  their  loups,  and  their  eyes 
sparkled  through  the  slits.  They  had  frightened  some 
people,  and  teased  more,  and  had  been  mistaken  for  two 
low  actresses  and  jested  with  accordingly,  and  were  as 
much  flattered  as  the  actresses  would  have  been  had 
they  been  taken  for  princesses. 

The  Lady  Hilda  prayed  of  the  archduchess's  good- 
ness to  be  excused  from  awaiting  the  supper ;  she  had 
been  ill  all  day;  and  her  headache  was  very  severe. 

The  archduchess  was  in  too  high  spirits  to  listen  very 
nuich,  or  to  care  who  went  or  who  stayed. 

'*  Take  me  to  the  carriage.  Due,"  said  Lady  Hilda, 
putting  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  M.  de  St.  Louis. 

Delia  Rocca  held  the  door  open  for  her.  He  bowed 
very  low,  once  more,  as  she  passed  him. 


220  -^^  ^    WINTER    CITY. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

The  next  day  was  Ash  Wednesday. 

Madame  Mila  awoke  too  late  for  mass,  and  with  a 
feverish  throbbing  in  her  temples.  She  and  the  arch- 
duchess had  only  left  the  Veglione  as  the  morning  sun 
came  up  bright  and  tranquil  over  the  shining  waters 
of  the  river  from  behind  the  eastern  hills. 

Madame  Mila  yawned  and  yawned  again  a  score  of 
times,  drank  a  little  green  tea  to  waken  herself,  thought 
how  horrid  Lent  was,  and  ran  over  in  her  mind  how 
much  she  would  confess  at  confession. 

She  determined  to  repent  her  sins  very  penitently. 
She  would  only  go  to  musical  parties,  she  would  wear 
no  low  bodices,  she  would  eat  fish  twice  a  week, — the 
red  mullets  were  really  very  nice, — and  she  would  go 
for  all  Holy  Week  en  retniite:  if  she  did  all  that,  the 
most  severe  monitor  could  not  require  her  to  give  up 
Maurice. 

Poor  Maurice !  she  smiled  to  herself,  in  the  middle 
of  a  yawn  ;  how  devoted  he  was ! — he  only  lived  on 
lier  breath,  and  if  she  dismissed  him  would  kill  him- 
self with  absinthe.  She  really  believed  it.  She  did 
not  dream  that  Maurice,  submissive  slave  though  he 
was,  had  his  consolations  for  slavery,  and  was  at  that 
moment  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  prettiest  artist's 
model  in  Floralia. 

It  was  the  Day  of  Ashes,  as  all  the  bells  of  the  city 
nad  tolled  out  far  and  wide ;  and  INIadame  Mila,  over 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  221 

her  green  tea,  really  felt  penitent.  For  the  post  had 
brought  her  three  terribly  thick  letters,  and  the  letters 
were  bills ;  and  the  sum  total  that  was  wanted  imme- 
diately was  some  sixty  thousand  francs  ;  and  how  could 
a  poor  dear  little  woman  who  had  spent  all  her  money 
send  that,  or  a  tenth  of  it?  and  Spiridion  wouldn't, — 
he  had  too  many  bills  of  Blanche  Souris'  to  pay ;  and 
poor  Maurice  couldn't, — he  invariably  lost  at  play 
much  more  than  he  possessed,  after  the  manner  of  his 
generation. 

Madame  Mila  really  cried  about  it,  and  felt  ready 
to  promise  any  amount  of  repentance  if  she  could  get 
those  sixty  thousand  francs  this  Lent. 

"  And  to  think  of  me  running  myself  off  my  feet  in 
that  muslin  apron  collecting  for  the  poor  !"  she  thought, 
with  a  sense  that  heaven  behaved  very  ill  to  her  in 
return  for  her  charities.  "  I  suppose  I  must  ask  Hilda," 
she  reflected  :  "  she  always  does  give  when  you  ask  her, 
— if  that  man  don't  prevent  her  now." 

For  the  champagne  and  the  mask  and  the  great  joy- 
ousness  of  her  soul  had  prevented  Madame  Mila  from 
observing  any  difference  between  her  cousin  and  Delia 
Eocca,  and,  as  he  had  left  the  box  immediately  after 
her  cousin,  she  had  supposed  that  they  had  gone  away 
together :  why  shouldn't  they  ? 

"  I  must  ask  Hilda  to  lend  it  me,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. 

To  say  "  lend"  was  agreeable  to  her  feelings, — not, 

of  course,  that  there  was  any  serious  necessity  to  repay 

between  such  near  relatives;  and  she  sent  her  maid 

across  the  corridor  to  inquire  when  she  could  come  into 

her  cousin's  room. 

19* 


222  I^  A.    WINTER    CITY. 

The  maid  returned  with  a  little  unsealed  note  which 
the  Lady  Hilda  had  desired  should  be  given  to  Madame 
Mila  when  she  should  awake.  The  note  only  said,  "  I 
am  gone  to  Rome  for  some  few  weeks,  dear :  write  to 
me  at  the  lies  Britanniques  if  you  want  anything." 

"  Good  gracious !  what  can  have  happened  ?"  said 
Madame  Mila,  in  utter  amaze.  "They  must  have 
quarreled  last  night."  And  she  proceeded  to  cross- 
examine  all  the  hotel  people. 

Lady  Hilda  had  left  by  the  morning  train,  and  had 
not  taken  her  carriage-horses  Avith  her,  only  the  riding- 
horses,  and  had  kept  on  her  rooms  at  the  Murat:  that 
was  all  they  knew. 

"She  is  very  uncertain  and  imcomfortable  to  have  to 
do  with,"  thought  INIadame  Mila,  in  vague  irritation. 
"  Anybody  else  would  have  asked  me  to  go  with  her." 

A  sudden  idea  occurred  to  her,  and  she  sent  her  maid 
to  find  out  if  the  Duca  della  Rocca  were  in  Floralia. 

At  his  palace  they  said  that  he  was. 

"  Dear  me !  perhaps  he'll  go  after  her,"  thought 
Madame  Mila.  "But  I  don't  know  why  she's  so  secret 
about  it,  and  takes  such  precautions.  Nobody'd  cut 
her  for  anything  she  might  do  so  long  as  she's  all  ■'.hat 
money ;  and  so  long  as  she  don't  marry  she  can't  lose 
it." 

Madame  Mila  didn't  understand  it  at  all.  Her  ex- 
perience in  the  world  assured  her  that  her  cousin  might 
have  Delia  Rocca,  or  anybody  else,  constantly  beside 
her  whenever  she  liked,  and  nobody  would  say  any- 
thing,— so  long  as  she  had  all  that  money. 

She  felt  that  she  was  badly  treated,  that  there  was 
something  not  confided  to  her,  and  also  she  certainly 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  223 

ought  to  have  been  asked  to  go  to  Rome  at  her  cousin's 
expense.     She  was  snlky  and  irritated. 

"  Hilda  is  so  queer  and  so  selfish,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, and  began  a  letter  to  the  lies  Britanniques  with 
many  tender  endearments  and  m(ich  pathos,  and  the 
most  gracefully-worded  appeal  possible  for  the  loan  of 
the  sixty  thousand  francs. 

She  would  have  gone  to  Rome  herself,  being  well 
aware  that  written  demands  are  much  more  easily 
repulsed  than  spoken  ones.  But  she  had  no  money  at 
all.  She  had  lost  a  quarter's  income  at  play  since  she 
had  been  in  the  town,  and  she  could  not  pay  the  hotel- 
people  till  her  husband  should  send  her  more  money, 
and  he  was  hunting  bears  on  the  Pic  du  Midi  with 
Blanche  Souris,  established  at  Pau,  and  when  that  crea- 
ture was  with  him  he  was  always  very  tardy  in  answer- 
ing letters  for  money,  bears  or  no  bears,  and  of  course 
he  would  make  the  bears  his  excuse  now. 

Fairly  overwhelmed,  poor  little  Madame  Mila  had  a 
long  fit  of  hysterics,  and  her  maids  had  to  send  in  great 
haste  for  ether  and  the  Vicomte  des  Gommeux. 

She  rallied  by  dinner-time  enough  to  eat  two  dozen 
oysters,  some  lobster  croquettes,  and  some  prawn  soup, 
with  a  nice  little  bottle  of  Veuve  Cliquot's  sweetest 
*vine ;  but  still  things  were  very  dreadful,  and  on  the 
vvhole  she  was  in  the  proper  frame  of  mind  for  the  Day 
)f  Ashes,  and  in  the  confessional  next  morning  sobbed 
!0  much  that  her  confessor  was  really  touched,  and  Avas 
act  too  severe  with  her  about  her  Maurice. 


224  ^^  ^    WINTER    CITY. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

In  three  weeks'  time  Lady  Hilda  returned  from 
Rome. 

She  had  been  aifectionately  received  by  the  Holy 
Father ;  she  had  been  the  idol  of  the  nobles  of  the 
Black;  she  had  bought  a  quantity  of  pictures  and 
marbles,  and  bronzes,  and  Castelani  jewelry ;  she  had 
gone  to  early  mass  every  day,  and  ridden  hard  every 
day;  she  had  thought  Totila  would  have  been  more 
bearable  than  Signor  Roso,  and  she  had  shuddered  at 
the  scraped  walls  of  the  Colosseum  and  the  crimson 
bedaubings  of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars. 

She  returned  contemptuous,  disgusted,  tired  of  the 
age  she  lived  in,  and  regretful  that  she  had  not  spared 
herself  the  sight  of  so  much  desecration.  She  con- 
ceived that  Genseric  or  the  Constable  de  Bourbon  must 
have  been  much  less  painful  than  a  syndicate  and  an 
army  of  bricklayers.  She  refused  to  go  out  anywhere, 
on  the  score  of  its  being  Lent,  and  she  meditated  going 
to  London  for  the  season  to  that  very  big  house  in 
Eaton  Square,  which  she  honored  for  about  three 
months  in  as  many  years.  She  hated  London,  and  its 
society  was  a  mob,  and  its  atmosphere  was  thickened 
soda-water,  and  no  other  place  had  such  horrible  end- 
less dinner-parties.  Still,  she  was  going.  When  ? — 
oh,  to-morrow  or  next  week. 

But  to-morrow  became  yesterday,  and  next  w^ek 
became   last  week,  and    her   black-and-white    liveries 


IN  A    WINTER   CITr.  225 

were  still  airing  themselves  on  the  steps  of  the  Murat, 
and  her  black  horses  still  were  trotting  to  and  fro  the 
stones  of  Floralia,  bearing  little  Madame  Mila  hither 
and  thither. 

Theii  own  mistress  stirred  out  but  little;  it  was 
damp  weather,  and  she  coughed,  and  she  shut  herself 
ui»  with  millions  of  hyacinths  and  narcissi,  and  painted 
a  St.  Ursula  on  wood  for  her  chapel  in  Paris. 

She  painted  well,  but  the  St.  Ursula  progressed  but 
slowly. 

When  she  was  alone  she  would  let  her  palette  fall  to 
her  side,  and  sit  thinking;  and  the  bells  would  ring 
across  the  waters  till  she  hated  them. 

What  was  the  use  of  painting  a  St.  Ursula?  St. 
Ursula  did  not  want  to  be  painted ;  and  all  art  was 
nothing  but  repetition  :  nobody  had  found  out  anything 
in  color  really,  since  Giotto,  though  to  be  sure  he  could 
not  paint  transparencies  or  reflections.  And  she  would 
leave  her  St.  Ursula  impatiently,  and  read  Cavalcaselle 
and  Zugler  and  Winckelmann  and  Rumohr  and  Pas- 
savant,  and  when  she  did  go  out  would  go  to  some  little 
remote  unvisited  chapel  and  sit  for  hours  before  some 
dim  disputed  fresco. 

She  would  be  in  London  next  week,  in  its  blaze  of 
gas,  jewels,  luxury,  and  political  discussion.  She  said 
that  she  liked  these  calm,  dusky,  silent  places,  alone 
with  St.  Louis  and  St.  Giles  and  St.  Jerome. 

Madame  Mila  puzzled  over  her  conduct  in  vain. 
She  did  not  dare  to  ask  anything,  because  there  were 
those  sixty  thousand  francs,  and  her  cousin  had  helped 
her  about  them,  and  you  cannot  say  very  intrusive  or 
impertinent   things  to  a  person  who  is   lending  you 


226  J^  ^    WINTER   CITF. 

money;  but  it  was  very  odd,  thought  Madame  MiLj 
incessantly,  because  she  evidently  was  unhappy  about 
the  man,  and  wanted  him,  and  yet  must  have  sent  him 
away.  Of  course  she  couldn't  have  married  him  ;  but 
still  there  were  ways  of  managing  everything;  and  in 
Hilda's  position  she  really  could  do  as  she  liked,  and 
nobody  ever  would  even  have  said  a  word. 

"She  must  have  refused  him,"  the  Due  de  St.  Loui? 
said  to  her  more  than  once,  harassed  by  chagrin  at  the 
failure  of  his  project,  and  by  a  curiosity  which  his 
good  breeding  forbade  him  to  seek  to  satisfy  at  the 
fountain-head. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  she  did,"  said  Madame  Mila.  "  Of 
course  she  did.  But,  if  she  cares  for  him,  why  shouUl 
she  send  him  away  ? — il  y  a  des  moyens  pour  tout." 

Of  course  she  would  not  have  married  him ;  that 
Madame  Mila  knew  ;  but  Society  would  have  made  no 
objection  to  his  being  about  her  always  like  her  courier 
and  her  pug  and  the  rest  of  her  following,  and  if 
Society  doesn't  object  to  a  thing,  why  on  earth  should 
you  not  do  it  ? 

II  ne  faut  pas  etre  plus  roayliste  que  le  roi :  there 
cannot  be  the  slightest  necessity  to  be  more  scrupulous 
than  the  people  that  are  round  you ;  indeed,  to  attempt 
to  be  more  so  is  to  be  disagreeable  and  tacitly  imperti- 
nent to  others. 

There  is  a  certain  latitude,  which,  taken,  makes  you 
look  nmch  more  amiable.  Madame  Mila  was  kissed 
on  both  cheeks  really  with  sin(;erity  by  many  ladies  in 
many  cities,  merely  because  her  nice  management  of 
her  Maurice  made  their  Maurices  easier  for  them,  and 
tlieir  j)lcasant  consciousness  of  her  frailty  was  the  one 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  227 

touch  -which  made  them  all  akin.  Polyandry  made 
easy  is  a  great  charm  in  Society;  there  is  no  horrid 
scandal  for  any  one,  and  no  fuss  at  all.  Monsieur  is 
content  and  Madame  enjoys  herself,  everybody  goes 
everywhere,  and  everything  is  as  it  should  be. 

"If  that  old  man  had  lived,  Hilda  would  have  been 
glad  to  be  like  every  one  else,"  Madame  Mila  thought, 
with  much  impatience.  "  Of  course,  because  she  is 
quite  free,  she  don't  care  a  bit  to  use  her  freedom." 

Madame  Mila  herself  felt  that  although  her  passion 
for  Maurice  was  tlie  fifty-sixth  })assion  of  her  soul,  and 
the  most  ardent  of  all  her  existence,  even  Maurice  him- 
self would  have  lost  some  of  his  attraction  if  he  had 
lost  the  pleasant  savor  of  incorrectness  that  attached  to 
him,  and  if  she  had  not  had  to  take  all  those  precau- 
tions about  his  going  to  another  hotel,  etc.,  etc.,  which 
enabled  her  to  hold  her  place  in  courts  and  embassies 
and  made  her  friends  all  able  to  say  with  clear  con- 
sciences, "  Nothing  in  it,  oh,  dear  !  nothing  in  it  what- 
ever!" Not  that  she  cared  about  any  one  believing  that; 
she  did  not  even  wish  anybody  to  believe  it ;  she  only 
wanted  it  said, — that  was  all ;  because,  whilst  it  can  be 
said  a  woman  "goes  everywhere"  still,  and  though 
Heloise  or  Francesca  may  be  willing  to  "lose  the  world 
for  love,"  the  Femme  Galante  has  no  notion  of  doing 
anything  of  the  sort. 

"  They  are  brouilles^  that  is  certain,"  Madame  IMila 
responded  to  the  conjectures  of  M.  do  St.  Louis.  "  Oh, 
yes, — certain !  He  Avas  here  when  Hilda  came  back, 
and  we  passed  him  one  day  in  the  street,  and  he  took 
off  his  hat  and  bowed,  and  looked  very  cold  and  j)ale 
and  went  onwards.     Now,  you  know,  he  is  gone  to  the 


228  J^  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

Marshes,  and  after  that,  they  say,  he  is  going  into 
Sicily  to  see  after  that  brigand  Pibro.  It  is  not  like 
an  Italian  to  be  so  soon  repulsed." 

"  It  is  very  like  an  Italian  to  be  too  proud  to  ask 
twic(i,"  said  the  Due,  and  added,  with  a  little  smile, 
"  He  never  said  anything  to  me.  Only  once  lately  he 
said  that  he  was  sure  that  Miladi  would  be  a  very  dif- 
ferent creature  if  she  had  home  interests  and  children !" 

"  Good  gracious  !"  said  Madame  Mila,  "  she  was  quite 
right  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  if  he  have  that 
kind  of  ideas.  How  little  he  knows  her,  too !  Hilda 
is  quite  unnatural  about  children, — quite  horrid;  she 
never  speaks  to  them ;  and  when  she  saw  my  dear  little 
Lili  dressed  as  Madame  I'Archiduc  for  the  babies'  fancy 
ball  at  the  Elysee,  what  do  you  think  she  said  ?  She 
told  me  that  I  polluted  the  child's  brain  before  it  could 
distinguish  right  from  wrong,  and  that  a  mixture  of 
Judic  and  Fashion  at  five  years  old  was  disgusting. 
And  Lili  looked  lovely ! — she  was  so  prettily  rouged, 
and  Maurice  had  given  her  a  necklace  of  pink  pearls. 
But  Hilda  has  no  human  feeling  at  all." 

"  Delia  Rocca  did  not  think  so,"  said  the  Due. 

"  Delia  Rocca  was  in  love,"  said  Madame  Mila, 
scornfully,  "  with  the  beaux  yeaux  de  sa  cassette  too, 
as  well.  They  may  only  have  quarreled,  you  know. 
Hilda  is  very  disagreeable  and  difficult.  By  ihe  way, 
Deutschland  went  after  her  to  Rome,  and  proposed  to 
her  again." 

"  Indeed  !  and  she  refused  him  again  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  She  refuses  them  all.  I  did  fancy  she 
was  touched  by  Delia  Rocca,  but,  you  see,  it  came  to 
nothing ;  she  is  as  cold  as  a  crystal.    She  likes  to  know 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  229 

that  heaps  of  men  are  wretched  about  her,  and  she  likes 
to  study  those  dingy  old  paintings,  and  that  is  all  she 
does  like,  or  ever  will  like.  She  will  be  very  unhappy 
as  she  grows  older,  and  I  dare  say  she  will  be  quite 
capable  of  leaving  all  her  money  away  from  her  family 
to  build  a  cathedral  or  found  a  School  of  Art." 

And  Madame  Mila,  impatient,  nodded  to  the  Due, 
and  dashed  away  in  the  victoria  behind  the  white-and- 
black  liveries.  She  was  managing  to  enjoy  her  Lent 
after  all ;  her  mind  being  at  rest  about  those  sixty  thou- 
sand francs,  there  was  no  occasion  to  be  so  very  rigid ; 
low  bodices  she  did  not  wear,  because  she  was  a  woman 
of  her  word ;  but  then  she  had  half  a  hundred  divine 
confections,  cut  square,  or  adorned  with  ruifs,  or  open 
en  coeur,  with  loveliest  lace  and  big  bouquets  of  roses, 
to  make  that  form  of  renunciation  simpler ;  there  was 
plenty  going  on,  and  little  "  sauteries,"  which  nobody 
would  call  balls,  and  pleasant  gatherings,  quite  harmless, 
because  only  summoned  for  "  music,"  and  altogether, 
what  with  the  oasis  of  Careme,  and  the  prolongation 
of  the  Carnival  in  Russian  houses,  life  was  very  endur- 
able ;  and  there  were  Neapolitan  oysters  to  fast  upon 
comfortably.  Heaven  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb ;  and  it  would  be  hard  if  society  did  not  soften 
penitence  to  the  Femme  Galante. 

The  Lady  Hilda  did  keep  her  Lent,  and  kept  it 
fetrictly,  and  was  never  seen  at  the  sauteries,  and  rarely 
a»  the  musical  parties.  But  then  every  one  knew  that 
she  was  devote  (when  she  was  not  slightly  Voltairean), 
and  it  could  not  be  expected  that  a  woman  going  to 
reign  in  the  vast  world  of  I^ondon  would  put  herself 
out  to  be  amiable  in  Floralia.     Yet,  had  they  only 


230  -f-V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

known  it,  she  loved  Floralia  in  lier  own  heart,  as  she 
had  never  loved  any  other  place  upon  earth.  The 
beautiful  small  city  set  along  its  shining  Avaters,  with 
all  the  grace  of  its  classic  descent,  its  repose  of  contem- 
plative art,  its  sanctity  of  imperishable  greatness,  had 
a  hold  upon  her  that  no  other  spot  under  the  sun  could 
ev'er  gain.  If  she  thought  others  unworthy  of  it,  she 
thought  herself  no  less  unworthy.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  to  be  worthy  to  dwell  in  it,  one  needed  to  be  wise 
and  pure  and  half  divine,  even  as  St.  Ursula  herself. 

And  all  the  pride  in  her  was  shaken  to  the  roots : 
she  was  full  of  a  restless,  dissatisfied  humility ;  there 
were  times  when  she  hated  herself  and  was  weary  of 
herself  to  utter  impatience.  She  shut  herself  up  with 
her  art  studies  and  the  old  frescoes,  because  they  pained 
her  less  than  any  other  thing.  She  was  passionately 
unhappy:  though  to  other  people  she  only  seemed  a 
trifle  more  cynical  and  more  contemptuous  than  before, 
— no  more. 

The  easy  morality  with  which  her  cousin  would  have 
solved  all  difficulty  was  not  possible  to  her.  She  would 
not  have  cheated  the  old  dead  man  from  whom  her 
riches  came,  by  evading  him  in  the  spirit  of  his  will 
whilst  adhering  to  the  letter.  Unless  she  gave  up 
her  riches,  her  lover  could  be  nothing  to  her;  and 
the  thought  of  giving  them  up  never  even  occurred 
to  her  as  possible.  She  did  not  know  it,  because  she 
was  so  very  tired  of  so  many  things;  but  the  great 
world  she  had  always  lived  in  was  very  necessary  to 
her,  and  had  absolute  dominion  over  her;  it  became 
tiresome,  as  the  trammels  of  empire  do  to  a  mon- 
arch ;   but  to  lay  down  her  sceptre  would  have  been 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  231 

an  abdication,  and  an  abnegation  impossible  to  her. 
And  she  despised  lierself  because  they  were  impossi- 
ble; despised  herself  because  to  his  generosity  she 
had  only  responded  with  what  at  best  was  but  a  vul- 
gar egotism;  despised  herself  because  she  had  been 
6o  weak  that  she  had  permitted  his  familiarities  and 
his  caresses  unrebuked;  despised  herself  for  every- 
thing with  that  self-scorn  of  a  proud  woman,  which 
is  far  more  intense  and  bitter  than  any  scorn  that  she 
has  ever  dealt  out  upon  others. 

She  had  lived  all  her  life  on  a  height  of  unconscious, 
but  no  less  absorbing,  self-admiration.  She  had  looked 
down  on  all  the  aims  and  objects  and  attainments  and 
possessions  of  all  other  persons  with  a  bland  and  su- 
perb vanity ;  she  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  herself 
as  perfect,  as  otliers  all  united  to  tell  her  that  she  was ; 
and  her  immunity  from  mean  frailties  and  puerile  emo- 
tions had  given  her  a  belief  that  she  was  lifted  high 
above  the  passions  and  the  follies  of  humankind;  now, 
all  of  a  sudden,  she  had  dropped  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  weakness  and  of  selfishness ;  passion  had  touched 
her,  yet  had  left  her  without  its  courage. 

In  those  long,  lonely,  studious  days  in  Lent,  study- 
ing her  religious  art  with  wandering  thoughts,  she  grew 
to  hate  herself;  yet  to  resign  her  empire  for  another's 
Bake  never  even  distantly  appeared  to  her  as  possible. 

One  day,  in  a  little  private  chapel,  where  there  were 
some  fine  dim  workes  en  tempera,  only  to  be  seen  by 
earliest  morning  light,  she  was  startled  by  seeing  him 
near  her.  He  was  coming  from  the  sacristy  on  business 
of  the  church.  He  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  would 
have  passed  on  A\ith  a  silent  salutation,  but  she  ap- 


232  IN  A    WINTER   CITV. 

proaclied  him  on  an  impulse  which  a  moment  later  she 
regretted. 

"Need  you  avoid  me?"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "Surely 
— I  go  from  here  so  soon — we  might  still  be  friends? 
People  Avould  talk  less " 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  a  cold  severity  whith 
chilled  her  like  the  passing  of  an  icy  wind. 

"  Madame,"  he  answered  her,  with  a  fleeting  smile, 
"your  Northern  lovers,  perhaps,  may  have  been  con- 
tent to  accept  such  a  position :  I  am,  I  confess,  thank- 
less. I  thought  you  too  proud  to  heed  what  '  people 
said';  but,  if  that  trouble  you,  I  go  myself  to  Sicily 
to-morrow." 

Then  he  bowed  very  low  once  more,  and,  with  his 
salutation  to  the  altar,  went  on  his  way  through  the 
dusky  shadows  of  the  little  chapel  out  into  the  morn- 
ing sunshine  of  the  street. 

Her  eyes  grew  blind  with  tears,  and  she  sank  down 
before  a  wooden  bench  upon  her  knees ;  yet  could  not 
pray  tliere,  for  the  bitterness  and  the  tumult  of  her 
heart. 

She  found  her  master  in  him. 

His  passionless,  unpardoning  gaze  sank  into  her  very 
soul,  and  seemed  like  a  ruthless  light,  that  showed  her 
all  the  wretchedness  of  pride  and  self-love  and  vainest 
ostentations,  which  she  had  harbored  there  and  set  up 
as  her  gods. 

No  amorous  extolling,  no  feverish  pursuit,  of  her. 
She  comprehended  tliat  she  had  wronged  him,  and  that 
he  would  not  forgive.  After  all, — knowing  what  she 
knew,  knowing  that  she  could  never  and  would  never 
marry  him, — she  had  had  no  right  to  deal  with  him  as 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  233 

she  had  done.  She  had  allowed  him  to  bask  in  the 
sun  of  a  fool's  paradise,  and  then  had  awakened  hira 
rudely  and  had  sent  him  adrift.  She  had  been  un- 
generous :  she  saw  it,  and  hated  her  own  fault  with  the 
repentance  of  a  generous  temper. 

She  had  gone  through  the  world  with  but  little  hetd 
for  the  pain  of  others ;  but  his  pain  smote  her  con- 
science. After  all,  he  had  a  title  to  upbraid  her  pas- 
sionately ;  that  he  refrained  from  doing  so  made  her 
own  self-reproach  the  keener.  There  had  been  so 
many  moments  when  with  justice  \te  might  have  felt 
certain  that  she  loved  him ;  and  how  could  he  guess 
the  rest?  She  knew  that  she  had  wronged  hira;  and 
she  was  humbled  in  her  own  sight;  she  had  lost  her 
own  self-respect,  and  her  own  motives  seemed  to  her 
but  poor,  and  almost  base,  ones. 

Nothing  had  ever  moved  her  so  intensely  as  that 
silent  condemnation,  as  that  contemptuous  rejection  of 
her  poor  half-hearted  overture  of  peace. 

He  would  be  all,  or  nothing. 

When  she  left  the  chapel  she  loved  him  as  she  had 
never  done  before ;  yet  it  never  occurred  to  her  to 
abandon  her  riches  for  his  sake.  The  habits  and  the 
ways  of  the  world  were  too  close  about  her;  its  artificial 
needs  and  imperious  demands  were  too  much  her  second 
nature ;  its  admiration  was  too  necessary  to  her,  and 
her  custom  of  deference  to  its  conventional  laws  too 
much  an  instinct ;  she  had  been  too  long  accustomed 
to  regard  the  impulses  of  the  heart  as  insane  follies, 
and  poverty  of  life  as  pain  and  madness. 

The  same  evening  he  did  leave  the  town  for  Sicily, 

where  he   had   lands  \^hich,   though   beautiful,  were 

20* 


234  ^^^^  A    WINTER   CITY. 

utterly  unproductive,  and  constantly  harried  by  the 
system  of  brigandage,  which  paralyzed  the  district. 

"Paolo  will  get  shot  most  likely.  He  has  declared 
that  he  will  not  return  without  having  captured  Pibro," 
said  an  Italian  in  her  hearing,  at  a  musical  gathering, 
dedicated  to  the  music  of  Pergolese. 

Pibro  was  a  notorious  Sicilian  robber.  The  sweet 
chords  sounded  very  harsh  and  jangled  in  her  ears  j 
she  left  early,  and  went  home  and  took  a  heavy  dose 
of  chloral,  which  only  gave  her  dark  and  dreary  dreams. 

"  What  miserable  creatures  we  are !"  she  thought, 
wearily.  "  We  cannot  even  sleep  naturally  :  poor  peo- 
ple can  sleep ;  they  lie  on  hard  benches,  and  dream 
with  smiles  on  their  faces." 

She  got  up,  and  looked  out  at  the  moonlight  on  the 
river,  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  her  chamber,  with  the 
great  braids  of  her  hair  flying  over  her  shoulders, — a 
lofty,  slender,  white  figure  in  the  pale  gleam  of  the 
lamp-rays. 

A  passionate,  feverish,  disordered  pain  consumed  her. 
It  terrified  her.  Would  it  be  thus  weeks,  months,  years, 
—all  her  life? 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  chloral  that  unnerves  one,"  she 
thought.     "I  will  not  take  it  any  more." 

"Only  fancy,  ma  chere,"  said  Madame  Mila  to  hei 
next  morning,  with  the  pretty  cat-like  cruelty  of  the 
Mila  species,  "only  fancy, — that  poor  dear  Delia  Rocca 
is  gone  to  his  death  in  Sicily !  So  they  say.  There  is 
a  horrid  brigand  who  has  been  swinging  some  of  his 
farmers  there  to  trees,  and  burning  their  cottages, — 
Delia  Rocca's  farmers,  you  know ;  and  he  is  gone  to 
Bee  about  it,  and  to  capture  the  wretched  creature,  as  if 


IX  A    WISTER    CITY.  235 

he  could  when  all  the  soldiers  and  all  the  police  have 
failed!  He  will  be  quite  certain  to  be  shot.  Isn't  it 
a  i)ity  ?  He  is  so  handsome,  and  if  he  would  marry 
that  little  American  Spiffler  girl  with  all  her  millions 
he  might  be  very  hapjiy.  That  little  Spiffler  is  really 
not  unpresentable, — rather  mignonne,  don't  you  think? 
— and  her  people  will  give  the  largest  dot  ever  heard  of 
in  Europe  if  they  can  get  one  of  the  very  old  titles : 
and  she  is  only  seventeen :  he  might  send  her  to  the 
Sacre  Cceur  for  a  year  or  two." 

"  If  he  be  gone  to  be  shot,  what  use  would  the  Spiffler 
dot  be?  "  said  Lady  Hilda,  with  the  coolest  calm,  as  on 
a  subject  not  even  of  most  remote  interest;  and  she 
went  on  glazing  a  corner  of  the  draperies  of  her  St. 
Ursula  with  carmine. 

"  The  Spiffler  marriage  was  proposed  to  him,"  con- 
tinued Madame  Mila,  unheeding.  "The  Featherleighs 
undertook  it,  but  he  refused  point  blank.  'Je  ne  me 
vends  pas,"  was  all  he  said.  It  was  very  rude,  and 
really  that  little  Spiffler  might  be  made  something  of; 
those  very  tiny  creatures  never  look  vulgar,  and  are  so 
easy  to  dress;  as  it  is,  I  dare  say  Furstenberg  will  take 
her;  it  is  on  the  tapis,  and  Delia  Rocca  won't  come  back 
alive,  I  suppose — isn't  it  a  hare-brained  thing  to  do? — 
there  are  gendarmes  to  look  after  the  brigands,  but  it 
seems  he  has  some  fancy  because  they  were  his  own 
people  that  suffered — but  no  doubt  he  told  you  all  about 
it,  as  you  and  he  are  sucu  friends?" 

"He  merely  said  he  was  going  to  Sicily,"  said  the 
Lady  Hilda,  languidly,  still  glazing  her  St.  Ursula. 

Madame  Mila  eyed  her  curiously. 

"You  look  very  pale,  dear;  I  think  you  paiut  too 


•23G  J-^'  ^  WINTER  cirv. 

much,  and  read  too  much,"  she  said,  affectionately.  "I 
wish  you  had  tried  to  persuade  him  into  this  Spiffler 
affair;  it  would  be  just  the  marriage  for  him,  and  a 
girl  of  seventeen  may  be  drilled  into  anything,  especially 
when  she  has  small  bones  and  little  color  and  good 
teeth;  if  Furstenberg  gets  her  he  will  soon  train  her 
into  good  form, — only  he  will  gamble  away  all  her 
money,  let  them  tie  it  up  as  they  may;  and  they  can't 
tie  it  up  very  much  if  they  want  to  make  a  high  mar- 
riage. Good  men  won't  sacrifice  themselves  unless  they 
get  some  control  of  the  fortune.  They  wouldn't  have 
tied  it  at  all  with  Delia  Rocca.  Wouldn't  the  little 
Spiffler  have  been  better  for  him  than  Sicily?" 

"It  depends  upon  taste,"  said  the  Lady  Hilda, 
changing  her  brushes. 

"Very  odd  taste,"  said  Madame  Mila.  "They  say 
Pibro  always  cuts  the  heads  off  the  men  he  takes,  and 
sends  them  into  Palermo — the  heads,  you  know — with 
lemons  in  their  mouths,  like  boars.  Isn't  it  horrible? 
And  Delia  Pocca  intends  going  up  after  the  monster  in 
his  very  fastnesses  upon  the  mountains!    Fancy  that 

beautiful  head  of  his  ! Really,  dear,  you  do  look 

very  ill:  when  will  you  go  to  London?" 

"  Oh,  some  time  next  week." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it;  the  room 
Bwam  round  her,  the  sounds  of  the  streets  grew  dull 
upon  her  ears. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  till  after  the  races,"  said 
Madame  Mila,  placidly.  "I  mean  to  stay.  The  place 
is  really  very  nice,  though  one  does  see  the  same  people 
too  often.  Fancy  poor  Paolo  ending  like  John  the 
Baptist, — the  head  in  the  charger,  you  know.     I  won- 


IN   A    WINTER    CITY.  237 

der  you  let  him  go,  for  you  had  a  great  deal  of  influ- 
ence over  him ;  and,  say  what  you  like,  the  Spiffler 
girl  would  have  been  better.  How  can  you  keep  that 
window  open,  with  the  tramontana  blowing? — thanks 

so  much  for  lending  me  the  horses Goodness!  what 

is  the  matter." 

Madame  Mila  paused,  frightened ;  for  the  first  time 
in  all  her  life,  Lady  Hilda,  leaning  against  the  strong 
north  wind,  had  lost  her  consciousness  and  had  fainted. 

"  How  very  strange  people  are !"  thought  Madame 
Mila,  when  an  hour  later  her  cousin  had  recovered  her- 
self, and  had  attributed  her  weakness  to  the  chloral  at 
night  and  the  scent  of  her  oil  paints.  "  If  she  cared 
for  him  like  that,  why  didn't  she  keep  him  when  she 
had  got  him? — she  might  have  hung  him  to  her  skirt 
like  her  chatelaine ;  nobody  would  ever  have  said  any- 
thing. I  do  begin  to  think  that,  with  all  her  taste, 
and  all  her  cleverness,  she  has  after  all  not  so  very 
much  savoir-faire." 

No  one  had  much  savoir-faire  to  Madame  Mila's 
mind  who  did  not  manage  always  to  enjoy  themselves 
without  scruples  and  also  without  scenes. 

The  house  in  London  was  ordered  to  be  kept  ready 
night  and  day,  but  no  one  went  to  occupy  it.  M. 
Camille  Odissot,  stimulated  by  dread  of  his  patroness's 
daily  arrival  in  Paris,  worked  marvels  of  celerity  upon 
the  ball-room  walls,  and  drew  with  most  exquisite  pre- 
cision bands  of  Greek  youths  and  maidens  in  the  linked 
mazes  of  the  dance,  but  none  went  to  admire  his  efforts 
and  execution.  No  fashionable  newspapers  announced 
the  Lady  Hilda's  arrival  in  cither  city;  she  stayed  ou 
and  on  in  Floralia. 


238  i^  ^  WINTER  cirr. 

"  When  I  know  that  he  is  safe  out  of  Sicily  I  will 
go,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  let  the  piles  of  letters  and 
invitation-cards  lie  and  accumulate  as  they  Avould. 

She  ceased  to  paint,  and  left  the  St.  Ursula  unfin- 
ished :  he  had  sketched  it  out  for  her  on  the  panri,  and 
had  first  tinted  it  en  grisaille.  She  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  go  on  with  it;  she  changed  her  mode  of  life,  and 
rode  or  drove  all  the  day  long  in  the  sweet  fresh  spring 
weather.  When  she  was  not  in  the  open  air  she  felt 
suffocated.  The  danger  which  he  ran  was  no  mere  ex- 
aggeration of  her  cousin's  malicious  inventiveness,  hut 
was  a  fact,  true  and  ghastly  enough  ;  no  one  heard  of  or 
from  him,  but  his  friends  said  that  it  was  the  most  fatal 
madness  that  had  led  him  to  risk  his  life  in  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  Sicilian  thieves. 

"It  is  sheer  suicide,"  they  said  around  her.  "What 
had  he  to  do  there  ? — if  the  law  cannot  enforce  itself, 
leave  it  alone  in  its  impotency.  But  he  had  some  idea 
that  because  his  own  villagers  were  among  those  who 
suffered  most,  it  was  his  place  to  go  there  and  do  what 
the  law  cannot  do  : — he  was  always  Quixotic,  poor 
Paolo." 

She  went  out  into  society  as  Easter  came,  and  heard 
all  that  they  said,  and  gave  no  sign  of  what  she  sufltied. 
Worth  sent  her  new  marvels  of  the  spring,  and  she 
wore  them,  and  was  endlessly  courted  and  envied  and 
quoted  and  wondered  at.  She  was  a  little  chillier  and 
more  cynical  than  ever,  and  women  observed  with 
pleasure  that  she  was  looking  ill  and  growing  too  thin, 
which  would  spoil  her  beauty.  That  was  all.  But  she 
had  never  thought  such  pain  possible  in  life  as  she  en- 
dured now. 


IN  A  wiyriiR  ciTV.  239 

"  If  he  die  it  is  I  who  will  have  killed  him."  s^he 
said  in  her  own  heart  night  and  day. 

Once  she  found  herself  in  her  long  lonely  rides  near 
Palestrina,  and  met  the  old  steward,  and  recognized 
him,  and  went  into  the  sad,  silent,  deserted  house,  and 
listened  to  the  old  man's  stories  of  his  beloved  h.rd'.s 
boyhood  and  manhood,  and  of  the  people's  clinging 
feudal  attachment  to  him,  and  of  his  devotion  to  them 
in  the  time  of  the  cholera  pestilence. 

"  There  is  not  an  old  charcoal-burner  or  a  little  goat- 
herd on  the  estates  that  would  not  give  his  life  for 
Prince  Paolo,"  the  steward  said  to  her,  crying  like  a 
child  because  there  w'as  no  news  from  Sicily. 

The  same  evening  she  went  to  a  great  Pasqua  ball  at 
the  Roubleskoff  villa.  As  they  fastened  the  diamonds 
over  her  hair  and  in  her  bosom,  she  felt  to  hate  the 
shining,  senseless,  soulless  stones  :  they  were  the  emblem 
of  the  things  for  which  she  had  lost  him ;  and  at  that 
very  hour,  for  aught  they  knew,  he  might  be  lying  dead 
on  some  solitary  shore  by  the  fair  blue  sea  of  Theo- 
critus ! 

With  a  heart  sick  with  terror  and  uncertainty,  she 
went  to  the  brilliant  crowds  of  the  Russian  house, — to 
the  talk  that  was  so  frivolous  and  tedious,  to  the  dances 
she  never  joined  in,  to  the  homage  she  was  so  tired  of, 
to  the  monotonies  and  personalities  and  trivialities  that 
make  up  society. 

M.  de  St.  Louis  hurried  up  to  her : 

*'  JNIadame,  quelle  chance ! — our  new  Herakles  has 
slain  his  Dragon.  Maremma  has  just  had  telegrams 
from  Palermo.  Delia  Rocca  has  positively  captured 
the  brigand  Pibro,  and  taken  him  into  the  city,  much 


240  ^^v  ^  WINTER  crrr. 

wountled,  but  alive,  and  in  the  king's  jail  by  this  time. 
A  fine  thing  to  have  done,  is  it  not?  Of  course  ^ve 
shall  all  praise  it,  since  it  has  succeeded ;  although,  in 
truth,  a  madder  exploit  never  was  attempted.  Paolo 
was  ten  days  in  the  mountains,  living  on  a  few  beans 
and  berries  :  he  has  received  no  hurt  whatever ;  I  should 
think  they  will  give  him  the  Grand  Cross  of  Italy. 
It  is  really  a  superb  thing  to  have  done.  The  monster 
has  been  the  terror  of  that  district  for  ten  years.  Pa- 
lermo went  utterly  mad  with  joy.  It  is  quite  a  pity 
there  is  no  Ariosto  to  celebrate  such  a  feat.  It  is  very 
Ariosto-like.  Indeed,  all  the  best  Italians  are  so. 
Englishmen  have  long  ceased  to  be  in  any  manner 
Shakspearian  ;  but  Italians  remain  like  their  poets." 

The  Due  wandered  away  into  the  subtlest  and  most 
discursive  analysis  of  the  Ariostan  school  and  of  the 
national  characteristics  which  it  displayed  and  was  nur- 
tured on ;  but  she  had  no  ear  to  hear  it. 

Outwardly  she  sat  indifferent  and  calm,  but  her  brain 
and  her  heart  were  in  tumult  with  the  sweetest,  loftiest, 
grandest  pride  that  she  had  ever  known, — pride  without 
egotism,  without  vanity,  without  a  thought  of  self;  true 
pride,  exultant  in  heroism,  not  the  arrogant  pride  of  self- 
culture,  of  self-worship,  of  self-love,  not  the  paltry  pride 
of  rank  and  acquisition  and  physical  perfection,  not  the 
pride  of  which  all  the  while  she  had  been  half  contemj)t- 
uous  herself.     And  then — his  life  was  safe ! 

Yet,  had  he  stood  before  her  then  she  must  have 
given  him  the  same  answer :  at  least,  she  thought  so. 

"What  a  fine  thing  to  have  done!"  said  Madame 
Mila,  pausing  by  her  in  the  middle  of  a  waltz,  with 
her  brocade   train   ablaze  with  gold.     "And  now  he 


IN  A   WINTER   CITF.  241 

can  come  back  and  many  the  Spiffler  girl.     What  do 
you  say,  Due?" 

"  He  will  never  marry  la  petite  Spiffler,"  said  the 
Due,  "nor  any  one  else/'  with  a  glance  of  meaning 
at  Lady  Hilda. 

All  eyes  turned  upon  her.  She  played  idly  Nsith 
her  fan, — one  painted  long  ago  by  Watteau. 

"M.  della  Rocca  has  succeeded,  so  it  is  heroism," 
she  said,  calmly.  "  Had  he  failed,  I  suppose  it  would 
have  been  foolhardiness." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  Due.  " Surely,  . raadame, 
Failure  cannot  expect  to  use  the  same  dictionary  as 
Success  ?" 

"  He  must  have  the  Grand  Cordon,  and  marry  the 
big  Spiffler  dot,''  said  Madame  Mila. 

The  Due  smiled. 

"Nay,  Comtesse,  that  were  bathos  indeed.  Any- 
how, let  us  rejoice  that  he  is  living,  and  that  the  old 
Latin  race  is  still  productive  of  heroes.  I  suppose  we 
shall  have  details  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"What  ever  could  he  do  it  for?"  said  Madame 
Mila,  as  she  whirled  away  again  in  the  encircling 
arm  of  her  Maurice:  to  Madame  Mila  such  trifles  as 
duty,  patriotism,  or  self-sacrifice  could  not  possibly  be 
any  motive  power  among  rational  creatures.  "What 
ever  could  he  do  it  for? — I  suppose  to  soften  Hilda. 
But  he  must  know  very  little  about  her:  she  hates 
anything  romantic;  you  heard  she  called  it  foolhardy. 
He  neve?'  will  be  anything  to  her,  not  if  he  try  for  ten 
years.  She  cares  about  him  after  her  fashion,  but  she 
cares  much  more  about  herself." 

Ijady  Hilda  did  not  sleep  tliat  night. 
L  21  Q 


242  I^'  A    WINTER   CITV. 

She  did  not  even  lie  down ;  dry-eyed  and  Avitli  fevei 
in  her  veins,  she  sat  by  the  window,  watching  the  bright 
pale  gold  of  the  morning  widen  over  the  skies,  and  the 
sea-green  depths  of  the  river  catch  the  first  sue  rqys 
and  mirror  them. 

She  was  so  proud  of  him, — ah,  heaven,  so  proud  ! 
The  courage  of  her  temper  ansAvered  to  the  courage 
of  his  action.  It  was  Heraklean, — it  was  Homeric, — 
that  going  forth  single-handed  to  do  wdiat  the  law 
could  not  or  would  not  do,  and  set  free  from  tyranny 
of  brute  force  those  poor  tillers  of  the  soil  who  could 
not  help  themselves.  The  very  folly  and  madness  of 
that  utter  disregard  of  })eril  moved  her  to  reverence, 
— she  who  had  all  her  life  been  environed  with  the 
cool,  calm,  cautious,  and  circumspect  customs  of  the 
world. 

For  one  moment  it  seemed  to  her  possible  to  renounce 
everything  for  his  sake.  For  one  moment  her  own 
passion  for  the  mere  gauds  and  pomps  and  possessions 
of  the  world  looked  to  her  beside  the  simplicity  and 
self-sacrifice  of  his  own  life  so  poor  and  mean  that  she 
shrank  from  it  in  disgust.  For  one  moment  she  said 
to  herself,  "  Love  was  enough." 

He  had  been  ready  to  give  up  his  life  for  a  few  poor 
laborers,  who  had  no  other  claim  on  him  than  that  they 
lived  upon  the  soil  he  owned ;  and  she  who  loved  him 
had  not  the  courage  to  renounce  mere  worldly  riches  for 
his  sake.  She  hated  herself,  and  yet  she  could  not 
change  herself.  She  cared  for  power,  for  supremacy, 
for  indulgence,  for  extravagance;  she  thought  she  heard 
the  tittering  mockery  of  the  women  she  had  eclipsed  so 
long  at  all  her  present  weakness;  it  was  all  so  poor,  so 


IN  A   WINTER   CITY.  24?J 

base,  so  unworthy,  yet  it  enchained  her :  the  world  had 
been  her  religion ;  no  one  casts  oiF  a  creed  long  held 
without  hard  and  cruel  strife. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  how  far  beneath  you  I  am !"  she 
thought,  she  whose  pride  had  been  a  by-word,  and 
whose  superb  vanity  had  been  an  invulnerable  armor. 

She  could  have  kneeled  down  and  kissed  his  hands 
for  very  humility ;  yet  she  could  not  resolve  to  yield. 

"  I  might  see  him  once  more,  before  I  go,"  she 
thought,  and  so,  coward  like,  she  put  the  hour  of 
decision  from  her.  They  must  part,  but  she  might  see 
him  once  more  first. 

She  would  go  away,  of  course,  and  her  life  in  the 
winter  city  would  be  with  the  things  of  the  past,  and 
she  would  grow  used  to  the  pain  of  dead  passion,  and 
feel  it  less  with  time.  Other  women  did,  and  why  not 
she? 

So  she  said  to  herself;  and  yet  at  moments  a  sort  of 
despair  appalled  her :  what  would  her  future  be  ?  Only 
one  long  empty  void,  in  whose  hollowness  the  "pleas- 
ures" of  the  world  would  rattle  like  dead  bones.  She 
began  to  understand  that  for  a  great  love  there  is  no 
deatn  possible.  It  is  like  Ahasuerus  the  Jew :  it  must 
live  on  in  torment  forever. 

And  how  she  had  smiled  at  all  these  things  when, 
others  had  spoken  of  them  ! 

The  days  passed  slowly  one  by  one;  the  beautiful 
city  was  in  its  spring  glory,  and  ran  over  with  the 
blossoms  of  flowers,  as  though  it  were  the  casket  that 
Persephone  let  fall.  The  news-slieets  were  full  of  this 
deed  which  he  had  done  in  Sicily;  she  bought  them 
all,  down  to  the  tawdriest  little  sheet  that  held   his 


244  ^-'^'  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

name,  and  read  the  well-known  story  again  and  again 
a  hundred  and  ten  hundred  times.  His  friends  ex- 
pected him  to  arrive  in  the  town  each  day,  but  no  one 
heard  anything  direct  from  himself. 

"  It  is  strange  he  writes  to  none  of  us,"  said  Ma- 
renima.     "  Can  anything  have  happened  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  the  pa2)ers  would  know  it,"  said  the  Due 
de  St.  Louis. 

She  overheard  them,  and  listened  with  dry  lips  and 
a  beating  heart. 

Why  did  he  write  to  no  one  ?  The  news-sheets  had 
announced  that  he  had  left  Palermo  for  Floralia. 

"  He  may  be  coming  back  by  the  marshes,"  some  one 
else  suggested  :  "  he  is  reclaiming  land  there." 

Perhaps  he  stayed  away,  she  thought,  because  he  had 
heard  that  she  still  remained  in  his  native  city. 

It  was  mid  April. 

Madame  Mila  was  organizing  picnias  under  old 
Etrurian  walls,  and  al  fresco  dinners  in  villa  gardens, 
and  she  and  her  kind  were  driving  out  on  the  tops 
of  drags  and  playing  baccarat  upon  anemone-studded 
lawns  by  moonlight,  and  driving  in  again  at  or  after 
midnight,  singing  Offenbach  choruses,  and  going  to  the 
big  cafe  in  the  town  for  supper  and  champagne.  Be  it 
in  winter  or  summer,  spring  or  autumn,  town  or  country, 
youth  or  middle  age,  Madame  Mila  and  her  kind  con- 
trive to  make  no  difference  in  their  manner  of  life 
whatever :  they  would  sing  Schneider's  songs  in  the 
Tombs  of  the  Prophets,  they  would  eat  lobster  salad 
on  Mount  Olivet,  and  they  would  scatter  their  cigar- 
ash  over  Vauclusc,  Marathon,  the  Campo  Santo,  or  the 
grave  at  Ravenna  with  equal  indifference;   they  are 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  24t» 

always  amused,  and  defy  alike  the  seasons  and  the 
sanctities  to  stop  them  in  their  amusement. 

It  was  mid  April,  and  with  the  beginning  of  May 
would  come  the  races,  and  with  the  races  the  Winter 
City  would  become  the  Summer  City;  and  then  the 
winter  fashion  always  fled  with  one  bound  to  fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new,  and  left  the  town  to  silence, 
sunshine,  roses,  fruits,  its  own  populace  with  their 
summer  songs  and  summer  skies,  and  perhaps  here  and 
there  an  artist  or  a  poet,  or  some  such  foolish  person, 
who  loved  it  best  so  in  its  solitude. 

"  Do  come  with  us,  Hilda,"  said  Madame  Mila,  one 
mid-April  morning. 

Madame  Mila  was  attired  in  the  simplest  morning 
costume  of  cream-hued  sicilienne  covered  with  ecru 
lace,  and  she  had  a  simple  country  Dorothy  hat  of 
cream-colored  velvet,  lined  bleu-de-ciel,  with  wreaths 
of  delicate  nemophilse  and  convolvuli  and  floating 
feathers,  set  on  one  side  of  her  head ;  Lancret  might 
have  painted  her  on  a  fan,  or  Fragonard  on  a  cabinet ; 
she  was  just  going  to  drive  out  with  five  carriages  full 
of  her  friends  to  a  picnic  at  Guido  Salvareo's  villa ; 
they  were  to  dine  there,  play  lansquenet  there,  and  come 
back  in  the  small  hours ;  they  had  all  postilions,  de 
Lonjumeau,  powdered,  and  with  ribboned  straw  hats; 
the  horses  were  belled,  and  the  bells  were  jingling  in 
the  street;  Madame  Mila  was  in  the  most  radiant 
spirits ;  sJie  had  won  five  hundred  napoleons  the  night 
before,  and  had  them  all  to  adventure  over  again  to- 
night. 

"  Do  come  with  us,  Hilda,"  she  urged.     "  You  do 

nothing  but  go  those  stupid  long  drives  by  yourself  j 

21* 


24G  ^^'  ^    WINTER    CITY. 

it  is  very  bad  for  you  ;  and  it  will  be  charming  to-day  ; 
Sah'areo  has  such  taste ;  it  is  really  quite  romantic  to 
sit  upon  those  anemones,  and  have  the  goats  come  and 
Btare  at  you ;  and  he  always  does  things  so  well,  and 
his  cook  is  so  good.  Do  come  with  us ;  I  am  sure  it 
would  do  you  good." 

Lady  Hilda  looked  up  from  the  St.  Ursula,  which 
she  was  finishing : 

"My  dear  Mila,  you  know  perfectly  well  how  I  detest 
that  kind  of  thing.  Teresa's  songs,  drag-seats,  and 
eager  efforts  to  imitate  the  worst  kind  of  women ! — go 
to  it,  if  it  amuse  you ;  but,  with  all  gratitude,  allow 
me  to  decline." 

"  How  disagreeable  you  are !"  said  Madame  Mila, 
pettishly.  "One  must  do  something  with  oneself  all 
these  long  days.  If  it  w^ere  Palestrina,  I  suppose  you 
would  go." 

Lady  Hilda  deigned  to  give  no  reply.  She  touched 
in  the  gold  background  of  her  saint.  INIadame  Mila 
looked  at  her  with  irritation  :  no  one  likes  to  be  de- 
spised, and  she  knew  that  her  cousin  did  very  nearly 
despise  her,  and  all  the  ways  and  means  of  enjoyment 
in  which  her  heart  delighted. 

Lady  Hilda,  tranquilly  painting  there,  annoyed  her 
inexpressibly.  Why  should  any  woman  be  above  the 
box-seats  of  drags,  and  all  their  concomitant  attrac- 
tions ? 

She  took  her  revenge. 

"  Do  as  you  like,  of  course ;  but  you  always  do  do 
Uiat,"  she  said,  carelessly.  "  There  are  two  seats  vacant. 
St.  Louis  and  Carlo  Maremma  were  to  have  gone  w^ith 
us,  but  they  went  to  Delia   Rocca  instead.     Oh,  didu't 


IN  A    WINTER    CITV.  247 

you  know  it? — he  reached  Palestrina  two  clays  ago, 
very  ill  with  marsh  fever.  It  is  fever  and  cholera  and 
ague  and  all  sorts  of  dreadful  thino-s  tos^ether.  Isn't 
it  odd? — to  have  escaped  all  that  danger  in  Sicily,  and 
then  get  this  in  the  swamps  coming  back?  Nobody 
knew  it  till  late  last  night,  when  his  steward  got  fright- 
ened and  sent  in  for  the  physicians.  He  is  very  bad, 
I  believe, — not  likely  to  live.  You  know  they  go 
down  under  that — sometimes — in  twenty-four  hours." 

Lady  Hilda  seemed  to  reach  her  at  a  single  step, 
though  the  distance  of  the  room  was  between  them 

"  Is  that  true? — or  is  it  some  jest?" 

Madame  Mila,  appalled,  looked  up  into  her  face. 

"It  is  true, — quite  true.  Oh,  Hilda,  take  your  hand 
off!  you  hurt  me.  How  could  I  tell  you  would  care 
about  it  like  that  ?" 

"Is  it  true?"  muttered  her  cousin,  again. 

"  Indeed,  indeed  it  is,"  she  whimpered,  trembling. 
"  Oh,  let  me  go ;  you  spoil  my  lace.  If  you  cared  foi 
the  man  like  that,  why  didn't  you  keep  him  when  you 
had  got  him?  I  know  you  could  not  have  married 
him ;  but  nobody  would  have  said  anything." 

Lady  Hilda  put  her  out  into  the  corridor,  and  closed 
the  door  and  locked  it  within. 

Madame  Mila,  frightened,  astonished,  and  outraged, 
went  down  to  her  Maurice,  and  the  drag,  and  the 
ribboned  and  powdered  postilions,  and  the  horses  with 
their  jingling  bells  and  plaited  tails  ;  the  gay  cavalcade 
i-attled  off  along  the  river-street  towards  the  city  gates 
as  the  clocks  tolled  three. 

Ijady  Hilda  and  St.  Ursula  were  left  alone. 

Within  less  than  half  an  hour  the  black  horses  were 


248  J^'  ^    WINTER    CITY. 

harnessed  and  bore  their  mistress  toAvarcb  Falestrina. 
Never  before  moved  by  impulse,  impulse  alone  governed 
her  now, — the  impulse  oi"  des})air  and  remorse.  She 
cared  nothing  who  saw  her  or  Avho  knew ;  for  once  she 
had  forgotten  herself. 

The  long  drive  seemed  eternity ;  she  thought  the 
steep  winding  mountain  roads  would  never  end ;  when 
Palestrina  came  in  sight,  pale  and  stately  against  its 
dark  background  of  forest  trees,  she  felt  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  He  had  gone  through  all  those 
perils  afar  off,  only  to  be  dying  there ! 

It  was  five  o'clock  by  the  convent  chimes  Avhen  they 
reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  on  which  the  old  place 
stood.  The  lovely  hillside  was  covered  with  the  blue 
and  white  of  the  wild  hyacinths  and  gold  of  the  wild 
daffodils.  The  lofty  stone  pines  spread  their  dark- 
green  roofs  above  her  head.  Flocks  of  birds  Avere 
singing,  in  the  myrtle  thickets,  their  sweet  shrill  even- 
song. The  shining  valley  lay  below  like  a  cloud  of 
amber  light.  The  surpassing  loveliness,  the  intense 
stillness  of  it  all  made  the  anguish  within  her  unbear- 
able.    What  she  had  missed  all  her  life  long ! 

There  was  a  chapel  not  far  from  the  louse,  set  in  the 
midst  of  the  pines,  with  the  cross  on  if  j  summit  touch- 
ing the  branches,  and  its  doorway  still  hung  round  with 
the  evergreens  and  flowers  of  its  passed  Easter  feasts. 
There  were  men  and  women  and  children  standing 
about  on  the  turf  in  front  of  it;  they  were  most  of 
them  crying  bitterly. 

She  stopped  her  horses  there,  and  called  a  woman  to 
her,  but  her  lips  would  not  frame  any  question.  The 
woman  guessed  it. 


IN  A   WINTER    CITY.  249 

"Yes,  my  beautiful  lady,"  she  said,  with  many  tears. 
"  We  have  been  praying  for  Prince  Paolo.  He  is  very 
ill,  up  yonder.  The  marsh-sickness  has  got  him.  INIay 
the  dear  Mother  of  God  save  him  to  us!  But  he  is 
dying,  they  say " 

"We  would  die  in  his  stead,  if  the  good  angels 
would  let  us,"  said  one  of  the  men,  drawing  near :  the 
others  sobbed  aloud. 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  the  man, — the  slender  proud 
hand  that  she  had  refused  to  princes.  Wondering,  he 
fell  on  his  knee  and  would  have  kissed  her  hand.  She 
drew  back  in  horror. 

"Do  not  kneel  to  me!  I  have  killed  him!"  she 
muttered ;  and  she  urged  her  panting  horses  forward 
to  the  house. 

She  bade  them  tell  the  Due  de  St.  Louis  to  come  to 
her  upon  the  terrace.  She  leaned  there  tearless,  white 
as  death,  still  as  marble,  the  beautiful,  tranquil  spring- 
time all  around,  and  the  valley  shining  like  gold  in  the 
light  of  the  descending  sun.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
ages  passed  before  the  soft  step  of  her  old  friend 
sounded  near  her :  he  was  surprised  and  startled,  but 
he  did  not  show  it. 

"There  is  still  ho])e,"  he  hastened  to  say,  ere  she 
could  speak.  "Within  the  last  hour  he  is  slightly 
better:  they  give  him  quinine  constantly.  If  the 
chills  and  shivering  do  not  return,  it  is  just  possible 
that  he  may  live.     But " 

His  voice  faltered  in  its  serenity,  and  he  turned  his 
head  away. 

"It  is  not  likely?" 

Her  own  voice  had  scarcely  any  sound  of  its  natural 


250  IN  A    WINTER    CITY. 

tone  left  in  it,  yet  long  habit  was  so  strong  with  her 
that  she  spoke  calmly. 

"  It  is  not  likely.  This  deadly  marsh-poison  is  short 
and  fierce.  After  the  fatigue  and  fasting  in  Sicily  it 
has  taken  fearful  hold  on  him.  But  in  an  hour  or  two 
they  will  know, — one  way  or  the  other." 

"  I  will  stay  here.  Come  and  tell  me, — often.  And 
if — if  the  worst  come, — let  me  see  him.  Leave  me 
now." 

He  looked  at  her,  hesitated,  then  left  her  as  she 
asked.  He  guessed  all  that  passed  in  her  thoughts, 
all  that  had  gone  before ;  and  he  knew  that  she  was 
not  a  woman  who  would  bear  pity,  and  that  she  was 
best  left  thus  in  solitude. 

Like  a  caged  animal  she  paced  to  and  fro  the  long 
length  of  the  stone  terrace. 

She  was  all  alone. 

The  golden  radiance  of  the  declining  day  shone 
everywhere  around,  the  birds  sang,  the  dreamy  bells 
rang  in  the  Ave  Maria  from  hill  to  hill,  all  was  so 
still,  so  peaceful,  so  beautiful ;  yet,  with  the  setting  of 
the  sun,  his  life  might  go  out  in  darkness. 

In  her  great  misery,  her  soul  was  purified.  The  fire 
that  consumed  her  burned  away  the  dross  of  the  world, 
Ihe  alloy  of  selfishness  and  habit  and  vain  passions. 
"Oh,  heaven!  give  me  his  life,  and  I  will  give  him 
mine !"  she  cried  in  her  heart,  all  through  those  terri- 
ble hours,  and  yet  recoiled  in  terror  from  the  useless- 
ness  and  daring  of  her  prayer.  What  had  she  ever 
done,  that  she  could  merit  its  fulfillment? 

He  might  have  been  hers,  all  hers ;  and  she  had  loved 
the  base  things  of  a  worldly  greatness  better  than  him- 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  251 

sellf.     And  now  lie  lay  dying  there,  as  tlie  sun  dropped 
westward  and  nitrlit  came. 

She  felt  no  chill  of  evening.  She  felt  neither  hnn- 
ger  nor  thirst.  Crowds  of  weeping  people  hnng  about 
in  the  gardens  below.  She  heard  nothing  that  passed 
rouni  her,  save  the  lew  words  of  her  old  friend  ^\ii^\i 
from  time  to  time  he  came  and  told  her  that  theit  was 
no  change. 

The  moon  rose,  and  its  light  fell  on  the  stone  of  tlio 
terrace,  and  through  the  vast  deserted  chambers  opening 
from  it, — on  the  gray  worn  marbles  of  the  statues,  and 
on  the  pale  angels  of  the  frescoes. 

It  was  nine  o'clock:  the  chimes  of  the  convent  above 
on  the  mountains  told  every  hour.  Unceasingly  she 
paced  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  like  some  mad  or  wounded 
creature.  The  silence  and  serenity  of  the  night,  the 
balmy  fragrance  of  it,  and  the  silvery  light,  were  so 
much  mockery  of  her  wretchedness.      She  had  never 

thought  that  there  could   be  agony  like   this and 

yet  from  God  no  sign. 

Nearly  another  hour  had  passed  before  her  friend 
approached  her  again.  Siie  caught  the  sound  of  his 
step  in  the  darkness;  her  heart  stood  still;  her  blood 
was  changed  to  ice,  frozen  with  the  deadliness  of  the 
most  deadly  fear  on  earth;  she  could  only  loo^  at  him 
with  wide-opened,  strained,  blind  eyes. 

For  the  first  time,  he   smiled. 

"Take  comfort,"  he  said,  softly.  "He  has  fallen 
asleep;  he  is  less  exhausted;  they  say  that  he  may  live. 
How  cold  you  are! — this  night  will  kill  you  " 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  on  the  stone  pavement,  and 
all  her  bowed  frame  was  shaken  by  convulsive  weeping. 


252  J^  ^    WINTER    CITV. 

He  drew  aside  in  reverence,  and  left  her  alone  in  the 
light  of  the  moon. 

When  midnight  came,  hope  was  certain. 

The  sleep  still  lasted ;  the  fever  had  abated,  the  cold 
f.liills  had  not  returned. 

She  called  her  old  friend  to  her  out  into  the  terrace. 

"I  will  go  now.  Send  to  me  at  daybreak;  and  keep 
'uy  secret." 

"May  I  tell  him  nothing?" 

"  Tell  him  to  come  to  me, — when  he  is  able." 

"Nothing  more?" 

"No;  nothing.     He  will  know " 

''But " 

She  turned  her  face  to  him  in  the  full  moonlight, 
with  the  tears  of  her  joy  coursing  down  her  cheeks,  and 
he  started  at  the  change  in  her  that  this  one  night  of 
suffering  had  wrought. 

"No,  say  nothing  more.  But — but — you  shall  see 
what  my  atonement  shall  be,  and  my  thankfulness." 

Then  she  went  away  from  him  softly  in  the  darkness 
and  the  fragrance  of  the  April  night.  The  Due  looked 
after  the  lights  of  her  carriage  with  a  mist  over  his  own 
eyes,  but  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  sigh. 

"  Who  can  ever  say  that  he  knows  a  woman?  Who 
can  ever  predict  what  she  will  not  say  or  will  not  do  or 
will  not  be?"  he  murmured,  as  he  turned  and  went 
within  to  watch  beside  the  bed  of  his  friend,  as  the 
stars  grew  clearer  and  the  dawn  approached. 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  253 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  MONTH  later  Paolo  della  Rocca  led  his  wife 
through  what  had  once  been  his  mother's  chambers  at 
Palestriua,  and  which  were  now  prepared  for  her  witii 
all  their  wide  windows  unclosed  and  looking  out  to  the 
golden  afternoon  glories  of  the  bright  southwest. 

In  the  little  oratory  which  opened  out  of  the  bed- 
chamber, there  was  hung  an  altar-picture;  it  was  the 
picture  of  San  Cipriano  il  Mago. 

"  Take  it  as  my  marriage  gift,"  he  murmured  to  her. 
"  You  threw  away  your  magic  wand  and  renounced  the 
world  for  me, — oh,  my  love,  my  love ;  God  grant  you 
the  saint's  reward !" 

She  laid  her  hands  upon  his  heart  and  leaned  her 
cheek  upon  them. 

"  My  reward  is  here." 

"  And  you  will  never  repent  ?" 

"  Did  Cyprian  repent  when  he  broke  his  earthly 
bonds  and  gained  eternal  life?  Once  I  was  blind; 
but  now  I  see.   The  world  is  nothing ;  Love  is  enough." 


254  ^-^  ^1  wi.xTEii  crrr 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  C'est  etoniiant !"  murmured  the  Due  de  St.  Louis 
softly  to  himself,  the  same  evening,  standing  on  the 
steps  of  the  Hotel  Murat,  after  assisting  in  the  morning 
at  those  various  civil  ceremonies  and  impediments  with 
which  our  beloved  Italy,  in  her  new  character  as  a 
nation  of  Free  Thought,  does  her  best  to  impede  and 
deter  all  such  as  cling  to  so  old-world  and  pedantic  a 
prejudice  as  marriage. 

The  denouement  of  the  drama  which  he  himself  had 
first  set  in  action  had  fallen  upon  him  like  a  thunder- 
bolt. He  had  had  no  conception  of  Avhat  would  hap- 
pen. He  had  thought  to  enrich  his  friend  by  one  of  the 
finest  fortunes  in  Europe,  and  lo ! — the  Due  renmined 
in  an  amazement  and  a  sense  of  humiliation  from  which 
he  could  not  recover. 

"  C'est  ^tonnant !"  he  murmured,  again  and  again. 
"  Who  would  ever  have  believed  that  Miladi  was  a 
woman  to  beggar  herself  and  play  the  romance  of  the 
'  world  lost  for  love'  ?  If  I  had  only  imagined ! — if  I 
liad  only  dreamed  !  I  will  never  propose  a  marriage 
to  any  living  being  again  ;  never." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  be  so  remorseful  about,  Due," 
said  Lord  Clairvaux,  with  a  sigh,  himself  utterly  ex- 
hausted by  all  the  law  work  that  he  had  been  obliged  to 
go  through.  "  It  is  very  funny,  certainly, — she  of  all 
women  in  the  world  !  But  they  are  liapi)y  enough,  and 
he  really  is  the  only  living  creature  that  ever  could 


IN  A    WINTER    CITY.  1:55 

manage  her.     If  anybody  had  ever  told  me  that  any 
man  would  change  Hilda  like  that!" 

"  Happy !"  echoed  M.  de  St.  Louis,  with  his  iiL 
sourire.  He  was  a  man  who  had  no  delusions ;  there 
were  no  marriages  that  were  happy;  some  were  calm, 
that  was  the  uttermost,  and  to  remain  calm  required 
an  inmiense  income;  money  alone  was  harmony. 

Lord  Clairvaux  lighted  a  very  big  cigar,  and  grum- 
bled that  it  had  been  horrible  to  have  to  leave  England 
in  the  Epsom  month,  but  that  he  thanked  goodness  that 
it  was  the  last  of  her  caprices  that  he  would  be  worried 
with ;  and  he  hoped  that  this  Italian  would  like  them 
when  he  had  had  a  year  or  two  of  them. 

"  I  don't  know,  though,  but  what  it  is  the  only  sen- 
sible caprice  she  ever  had  in  her  life ;  eh  ?"  he  added  ; 
"  except  buying  Escargot  and  giving  him  to  me  after 
the  races, — you  remember?  Hang  it,  I've  never  seen 
such  a  Chantilly  before  or  since  as  that  was !" 

"  We  never  do  see  such  a  race  as  the  one  that  we 
happen  to  win,"  murmured  ]\I.  de  St.  Louis. 

"Of  course  it's  an  awful  cropper  to  take,  and  all 
that;  but  I'm  not  sure  but  what  she's  done  a  wise 
thing,  though  all  the  women  are  howling  at  her  like 
mad,"  continued  Lord  Clairvaux;  "a  woman  can't  live 
forever  on  chiffons,  you  see." 

"  Most  women  can — admirably.  They  buy  at  eighty 
as  much  white  hair,  the  coiffeurs  tell  me,  as  they  buy 
blonde  or  black  at  twenty." 

"  Ah,  but  they  can't,  if  they  have  a  bit  of  heart  or 
mind  in  them.     Hilda  has  both." 

"  The  case  is  so  rare  I  could  not  prescribe  for  it :  let 
us  hope  Miladi's  own  prescription  will  suit  her,"  said 


256  /^V  A    WINTER    CITY. 

the  Due,  whose  serene  good  humor  was  still  slightly 
ruffled. 

"  AVoll,  she  always  was  all  extremes  and  contraries," 
said  Lord  Clairvaux.  "You  never  could  say  one  min- 
ute what  she  wouldn't  do  the  next.  By  George !  you 
know  there  is  nothing  too  odd  for  her  to  go  in  for ;  I 
should  not  wonder  an  atom  if  when  we  come  here  two 
or  three  years  hence,  Ave  find  her  worshiping  a  curly 
Paolino,  seeing  to  the  silkworms,  and  studying  wine- 
making:  she's  really  tried  everything  else,  you  know." 

"Everything  except  happiness?  Well,  very  few  of 
us  get  any  chance  of  tryiug  that,  or  would  appreciate 
it  if  we  did  get  it.  Hajipiness,"  pursued  the  Due,  pen- 
sively, "  must,  after  all,  be  almost  as  monotonous  as 
discontent, — when  one  is  used  to  it.  It  is  comforthig 
to  think  so;  for  there  is  very  little  of  it.  I  cannot 
realize  Miladi  among  the  babies  and  the  wine-presses  j 
but  you  may  be  right." 

"  Well,  you  know  she's  tried  everything  else,"  repeated 
Lord  Clairvaux.  "  It  will  be  like  Julius  Caesar  and 
his  cabbage-garden." 

"  You  mean  Diocletian,"  said  the  Due.  "  Do  you 
leave  to-night?  We  may  as  well  go  as  far  as  Paris 
together." 

And  he  turned  back  into  the  hotel  to  bid  farewell  to 
Madame  Mila. 

Madame  Mila,  who  had  made  the  religious  and  civil 
ceremonies  gorgeous  in  the  last  new  anomalous  anach- 
ronisms, with  a  classic  clinging  dress,  quite  Greek  in  its 
cut,  covered  all  over  with  the  eyes  out  of  peacocks' 
feathers,  and  a  cotte-de-maille  bodice,  stiff  as  paste- 
board with  gold  and  silver  oinl)roideries,  and  who  was 


IN  A    WINTER   CITY.  257 

now  on  the  point  of  departure  across  the  Mont  Cenis, 
covered  up  in  the  most  wonderful  of  hooded  cloaks 
trimmed  with  the  feathers  of  the  Russian  diver  and  the 
grebe ;  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  birds,  happy,  peace- 
ful, and  innocent  under  their  native  skies,  had  died  to 
trim  the  wrap,  and  it  would  probably  be  worn  about 
half  a  dozen  times ;  for  feathers  are  so  very  soon  chif- 
fonn^s,  as  everybody  knows. 

"They  are  quite  mad,  both  of  them!"  said  the  Count- 
ess, giving  her  small  fingers  in  adieu,  and  turning  to 
see  that  Maurice  had  all  the  things  she  wanted  and 
was  duly  hooking  them  on  to  her  ceinture  of  oxidized 
silver. 

"  Perhaps,  madame,"  said  the  Due,  who  indeed 
thought  so  himself.  "  But  if  a  few  people  were  not 
mad  occasionally  there  would  be  no  chance  for  the 
sanity  of  the  world." 

"Well,  they  will  repent  horribly,  that  is  one  com- 
fort ;  she  most  of  all,"  said  Madame  Mila,  with  asper- 
ity. "  She  ought  to  have  been  prevented ;  treated  for 
lunacy,  you  know ;  in  France  they  would  have  managed 
it  at  once  with  a  conseil  de  famille.  Maurice,  you  are 
screwing  the  top  of  that  flacon  on  all  wrong :  do  take 
more  care  !  She  will  repent  horribly,  but  she  don't  see 
it  now.  Of  course  if  she  had  had  to  lose  the  jewels 
they  would  have  brought  her  to  reason.  As  it  is,  she 
don't  in  the  least  realize  the  horrible  thing  that  she  has 
done, — not  in  the  least,  not  in  the  least.  When  I  said 
to  her  that  she  wouldn't  be  able  even  to  afford  Worth, 
she  laughed,  and  answered  that  she  would  have  one  dress 
from  him  every  year  for  old  friendship's  sake  for  the 
contadini's  vintage  balls,  and  that  he  would  be  sure  to 

22*  R 


258  ^^  A    WINTER   CITY. 

embroider  her  the  loveliest  Bacchic  symbolisms  and  put 
the  cone  of  the  thyrsus  for  buttons ! — only  fancy  !  She 
could  actually  jest  about  that !  How  miserable  she  will 
be  in  three  months  when  she  has  come  back  to  her 
senses ;  and  how  miserable  she  will  make  him  !" 

"  Chfere  Comtesse,"  said  the  Due,  taking  up  his  hat 
and  cane,  "  everybody  repents  everything.  It  is  a  law 
of  Fate.  The  only  difference  is  that  some  people  repent 
pleasantly  and  some  unpleasantly.  Let  us  hope  that 
our  beautiful  Duchess  will  repent  pleasantly.  Madame, 
j'ai  I'honneur  de  vous  saluer — Bon  voyage;  au  revoir." 


THE  END. 


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Her  style  is  pure  and  interesting,  and  she  depicts  marvellously  well  the  daily  social 
jf«  of  the  English  people." — St.  Louit  Republic. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Capt.  Chas.  King,  U.S.A. 

Under  Fire,  illustrated.   The  Colonel's  Daughter,  illustrated. 
Marion's  Faith,  illustrated.      Captain  Blake,  illustrated. 
Foes  in  Ambush.   (Paper,  so  cents.) 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 


Waring's  Peril.  Trials  of  a  Staff  Officer. 

izmo.     Cloth,  gi.oo. 


Kitty's  Conquest. 
Starlight  Ranch,  and  Other  Stories. 
Laramie;    or,  The  Queen  of  Bedlam. 
The  Deserter,  and  From  the  Ranks. 
Two  Soldiers,  and  Dunraven  Ranch. 
A  Soldier's  Secret,  and  An  Army  Portia. 
Captain  Close,  and  Sergeant  Croesus. 

j2mo.     Cloth,  gi.oo;  paper,  50  cents. 


"  From  the  lowest  soldier  to  the  highest  officer,  from  the  servant  to 
the  master,  there  is  not  a  character  in  any  of  Captain  King's  novels 
that  is  not  wholly  in  keeping  with  e.xpressed  sentiments.  There  is 
not  a  movement  made  on  the  field,  not  a  break  from  the  ranks,  not  an 
offence  against  the  military  code  of  discipline,  and  hardly  a  heart- 
beat that  escapes  his  watchfulness." — Boston  herald. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


BY 

Anne  Hollingsworth  Wharton. 


Through  Colonial  Doorways. 

With  a  number  of  colonial  illustrations  from  drawings  specially  made 

for  the  work.      l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  retrospect  of  fashionable  New  York  and  Philadelphia 
society  during  and  immediately  following  the  Revolution ;  for  there  was  a  Four 
Hundred  even  in  those  days,  and  some  of  them  were  Whigs  and  some  were 
Tories,  but  all  enjoyed  feasting  and  dancing,  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  no 
limit.  And  this  little  book  tells  us  about  the  belles  of  the  Philadelphia  meschi- 
anza,  who  they  were,  how  they  dressed,  and  how  they  flirted  with  Major  Andre 
and  other  ofBcers  in  Sir  William  Howe's  wicked  employ." — Philadelphia  Rtcord. 


«^ 


Colonial  Days  and  Dames. 

With  numerous  illustrations.     i2mo.     Cloth,  ^1.25. 

"  In  less  skilful  hands  than  those  of  Anne  Hollingsworth  Wharton's,  thes« 
•craps  of  reminiscences  from  diaries  and  letters  would  prove  but  dry  bones.  But 
she  has  made  them  so  charming  that  it  is  as  if  she  had  taken  dried  roses  from  an 
old  album  and  freshened  them  into  bloom  and  perfume.  Each  slight  paragraph 
from  a  letter  is  framed  in  historical  sketches  of  local  affairs  or  with  some  account 
of  the  people  who  knew  the  letter  writers,  or  were  at  least  of  their  date,  and  there 
are  pretty  suggestions  as  to  how  and  why  such  letters  were  written,  with  hints  of 
love  affairs,  which  lend  a  rose-colored  veil  to  what  were  probably  every-day 
matters  in  colonial  families." — Pittsburg  Bulletin. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of  price, 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  Publishers. 

PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Amelie  Rives. 


Barbara  Dering, 

A  Sequel  to  "  The  Quick  or  the  Dead  ? " 
i2ino.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  The  book  is  brilliantly  written  from  the  stand-point  of  a  young  woman  of 
observation,  experience,  feeling,  and  strong  convictions.  Her  characters  are  true  to 
life."— 5Z.  Paul  Dispatch. 

"  The  conversations  of  the  principal  characters  are  full  of  that  power  which 
the  editors  of  the  Atlantic  and  of  Harper' s  Monthly  found  in  Miss  Rives's  work 
in  the  early  days  of  her  writing." — Boston  Transcript. 


The  Quick  or  the  Dead  ? 

l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"No  story  ever  published  in  this  country  created  more  stir  and  controversy 
than  this  one.  By  many  the  work  has  been  pronounced  a  masterpiece  of  genius." 
— Baltimore  News. 

"  'The  Quick  or  the  Dead?'  "  says  the  New  York  Herald,  "has  made 
a  deeper  impression  on  our  American  literatiu-e  than  any  work  of  fiction  since 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  " 


The  Witness  of  the  Sun. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  ^l.oo. 

"  That  Miss  Rives  has  been  thought  worthy  of  recognition  at  the  hands  of 
critics  North  and  South  is  the  strongest  evidence  of  the  fact  she  has  done  something 
out  of  the  common,  and  we  will  preface  whatever  we  have  to  WTite  by  saying  that 
we  are  not  among  the  least  of  her  admirers." — Chicago  Times. 

"  The  novel  is  exciting,  notably  in  its  concluding  chapters,  and  it  shows  re- 
markable faciUty  in  literary  expression,  especially  in  the  dialogue." — Boston 
Gazette. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

A  Fight  with  Fate. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Mrs.  Alexander's  novels  are  decidedly  of  the  higher  order.  They  reflect 
the  lives  and  sayings  of  wholesome  people,  carry  a  healthy  moral,  and  convey 
valuable  lessons  to  enlightened  readers." — Si.  Louis  Globe-Defnocrat. 

"  This  is  Mrs  Alexander's  best  story,  and  readers  of  her  two  previous  novels, 
'  For  His  Sake"  and  "  Found  Wanting,'  will  at  once  recognize  this  as  high  praise. 
It  is  an  English  story.  The  plot  is  good,  is  skilfully  developed ;  the  dialogue  is 
bright,  the  situations,  many  of  them,  dramatic.  On  the  whole,  it  is  a  bright,  enter- 
taining novel,  and  one  of  the  best  of  the  season." — Boston  Advertiser. 


Found  Wanting. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;    cloth,  $1.00. 

"This  author's  stories  are  always  worth  reading,  and  her  new  one  is  no  ex- 
ception. The  heroine  is  fascinating  and  noble,  and  all  the  characters  are  well 
drawn,  and  the  dilemma  on  which  the  plot  hinges  is  handled  well." — Boston  Con- 
gregationalist . 

For  His  Sake. 

l2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;    cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mrs.  Alexander  is  always  successful  in  tasks  such  as  she  has  set  herself  in 
this  novel, — the  portrayal  of  character  in  English  middle-class  life.  In  dealing  with 
domestic  complications  and  the  interaction  of  characters  upon  each  other  she  is 
very  skilful,  and  she  contrives  to  divide  our  sympathies  pretty  equally  between  her 
heroine  and  her  two  lovers." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Frances  Courtenay  Baylor. 


On  Both  Sides. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  ^1.25. 

"A  novel,  entertaining  from  beginning  to  end,  with  brightness  that  never  falls 
flat,  that  always  suggests  something  beyond  the  mere  amusement,  that  will  be  most 
enjoyed  by  those  of  most  cultivation,  that  is  clever,  keen,  and  intellectual  enough 
to  be  recognized  as  genuine  wit,  and  yet  good  natured  and  amiable  enough  to  be 
accepted  as  the  most  delightful  humor.  It  is  not  fun,  but  intelligent  wit :  it  is  not 
mere  comicality,  but  charming  humor;  it  is  not  a  collection  of  bright  sayings  of 
clever  people,  but  a  reproduction  of  ways  of  thought  and  types  of  manner  infinitely 
entertaining  to  the  reader,  while  not  in  the  least  funny  to  the  actor,  or  intended  by 
him  to  appear  funny.  It  is  inimitably  good  as  a  rendering  of  the  peculiarities  of 
British  and  American  nature  and  training,  while  it  is  so  perfectly  free  from  anything 
like  ridicule,  that  the  victims  would  be  the  first  to  smile." — The  Critic, 

Behind  the  Blue  Ridge. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  ^1.25. 

"  It  is  lighted  through  and  through  by  humor  as  subtle  and  spontaneous  as  any 
that  ever  brightened  the  dark  pages  of  life  history,  and  is  warmed  by  that  keen 
sympathy  and  love  for  human  nature  which  transfigures  and  ennobles  everything  it 
touches." — Chiiii^o  Tribune. 

"  Intensely  dramatic  in  construction,  rich  in  color,  picturesque  in  description, 
and  artistic  in  its  setting.  No  more  delightful  picture  of  the  everj'-day  life  of  the 
Virginia  mountaineers  could  well  be  imagined." — Pliiladelphia  Record. 


A   Shocking   Example,  and  other  sketches. 
i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Rarely  have  we  enjoyed  a  more  delightful  series  of  literary  entertainments 
than  have  been  afforded  by  the  handsome  volume  containing  fourteen  stories  and 
sketches  from  the  bright  pen  of  Frances  Courtenay  Baylor,  whose  '  On  Both  Sides' 
has  won  for  her  so  enviable  a  reputation  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic." — Botton 
home  Journa  I. 


Miss  Baylor's  complete  works  ("  A  Shocking  Example,"  "  On 
Both  Sides,"  and  "  Behind  the  Blue  Ridge"),  three  volumes,  in 
box,  ^3.75.  

J.  B.  LiPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA.   ~ 


By  Elizabeth  Phipps  Train 


/SSUED  IN  THE  LOTOS  LIBRARY. 
ILLUSTRATED.  16MO.  POLISHED 
BUCKRAM.     75   CENTS   PER   VOL. 


THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF 
A  PROFESSIONAL  BEAUTY. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  confession,  admirably  written,  and  the  story  throughout 
is  delightfully  fresh  and  vivacious." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bitlletin. 

"  The  author  gives  in  this  handsome  little  book  a  charming  glimpse  of  ultra- 
fashionable  English  society.  It  has  an  air  of  truth  which  makes  its  moral  the  more 
impressive,  and  the  characters  are  well  drawn." — Colutnl/us  Evening  Dispatch. 

"  This  is  a  profoundly  interesting  Iotc  story.  Its  plot  is  simple,  natural,  and 
life-like — often  approaching  the  tragic.  The  dangers  from  the  abuse  of  the  power* 
ei  hypnotism  are  strikingly  illustrated." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean, 

A  SOCIAL  HIGHWAYMAN. 

"  There  is  a  consistency  of  bold  purpose  in  the  book  which  makes  it  the  re- 
verse of  mawkish.  It  is  a  kind  of  modernized  Dick  Turpin." — Chicago  Times- 
Herald. 

"  'A  Social  Highwayman,'  a  small  and  dainty  volume  in  Lippincott's  Lotos 
Library,  is  a  distinctly  interesting,  almost  a  fascinating,  story." — Brooklyn  Dails 
Eagle. 

"  The  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company  has  issued  in  the  Lotos  Library,  in  a  hand- 
•ome  little  volume,  with  illustrations, '  A  Social  Highwayman,'  by  Elizabeth  Phipps 
Train,  which  originally  appeared  in  Lippincott's  Magazine.  This  thrillingly  dra- 
matic story,  always  intensely  absorbing,  has  acquired  a  new  interest  since  it  was 
turned  into  a  play,  and  many  will  be  anxious  to  compare  it  with  the  drama  which 
bears  the  same  name.  The  tale  has  abundant  life  and  movement,  and  commands 
and  retains  attention." — Boston  Saturday  Evenitig  Gazette. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands. 


"My  Pretty  Jane!" 

l2mo.     Cloth,  uncut,  $l.oo. 

"A  sweeter  love  story  than  'My  Pretty  Jane'  has  not  been  wTitten  in  many 
a  day.  It  is  just  that,  and  nothing  more.  There  is  no  studied  fine  writing,  no 
moral  essaying,  no  analysis  of  character. — nothing  whatever  to  detract  the  reader's 
attention.  The  writer,  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands,  has  an  interesting  and  attractive 
story  to  tell,  and  she  tells  it  simply,  cleverly,  daintily  ;  keeping  the  reader's  atten- 
tion on  her  characters,  and  never  once  calling  attention  to  her  own  wit  or  her  own 
wisdom  or  her  own  '  views.'  " — New  York  World. 


The  Spell  of  Ursula. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents ;  cloth,  J i. 00. 

"  '  The  Spell  of  Ursula'  is  certainly  a  readable  novel.  It  deals  with  that  most 
difficult  material,  the  common-place  everyday  life  that  everybody  knows.  The 
writer  invests  the  simple  things  of  life  with  a  charm  which  admits  her  at  once  to 
the  reader's  friendship.  In  the  novel  she  introduces  Ursula,  a  sphinx-like  charac- 
ter, combining  all  sorts  of  undesirable  qualities  with  a  peculiar  power  of  fascina- 
tion."— Min7ieapolis  Tribune. 


A  Faithful  Traitor. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  ^l.oo. 

"In  'A  Faithful  Traitor,'  the  author  has  done  something  more  than  to  place 
before  us  the  people  and  the  events  of  an  ordinary  love  affair.  It  is  a  story  that  is 
entirely  original  in  its  conception  and  construction,  and  it  is  excellently  worked 
out.  The  circumstances  are  those  wherein  friendship,  man  for  man,  is  put  to  its 
severest  test ;  and  loyalty  to  duty  and  prmciple,  woman  for  woman,  is  exemplified 
to  a  martyr-like  degree." — Boston  Courier. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


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